Forever
by corbinsky
Summary: Harry attempts to live a normal life after Voldemort and Hogwarts, but with the beginning of three years in Auror training, teaching flying at Hogwarts, and trying to maintain a long-distance relationship with Ginny, Harry isn't sure if 'normal' is even a possibility.
1. Chapter 1

London Flat

The lights of London looked like distant reflections of the stars in the clear night sky as Harry neared the outskirts of the city. It was a welcomed sight at that late hour; he should never have allowed Hagrid to convince him that another round at Rosemerta's was a good idea. Regardless of the celebratory mood, it was already past two and in a few short hours Harry was expected to report for his first day of Auror training at the Ministry. He should have been home hours ago. He wouldn't have made the trip at all if he hadn't received an owl from Headmaster McGonagall requesting he pay a visit the previous afternoon for tea in her office. Not altogether an unusual request, the fact that she asked on a Sunday, the day before school term resumed, was a bit odd.

The broom Harry was riding through the cool night air was trailing a bit from the long journey and he couldn't help thinking that his old Firebolt would have made the trip without a trace of over-exertion. But it wasn't Ron's fault; he was kind enough to lend his Cleansweep to him in the first place. It was obvious Harry had put off buying a new broom long enough. The idea of shopping for one was less than exciting. He had the gold, sure, but with three years of training ahead of him, he wasn't in any position to spend it; at least not on any broom that he actually thought worth buying. After having a Firebolt it would be difficult to settle for anything less.

Harry swore as he went into what should have been a graceful dive. Instead, he slid forward several inches as the broom lurched uncomfortably with an alarming jerk. Perhaps he should've apparated after all. As much as he preferred flying, it would have gotten him home sooner and a whole lot warmer.

Nearing the low-lit street where he and Ron shared a flat, Harry slowed, thinking maybe it was time to get that new broom. After McGonagall's request, it would be nice to have reliable transportation, not to mention a proper training tool for all those new first years. That was if he took the job. Harry hadn't decided. It would be fun, sure, teaching Hogwarts students to fly and overseeing all the school's Quidditch matches. But it would be more responsibility when he was just starting a new career. On the other hand, it would be an enjoyable responsibility, with plenty of desirable time away from London in the fresh air of the mountains. It would be time spent at Hogwarts, and with the stress of becoming an Auror, periodic trips home probably wouldn't be a bad idea.

Harry landed with lesson plans on proper flying techniques already forming in his mind. When his feet hit the concrete beneath the light of a flickering street lamp, there was a clash of broken glass and, looking up, Harry saw that he had nearly crashed into a stumbling, rambling drunk who had flung himself against the brick of a shop wall, a broken, leaking bottle of spirits at his feet. "Obliviate," Harry murmured after pulling out his wand and pointing it at the frightened man. The bloodshot look of surprise faded into a dreamy, blank expression and, before the bum came around, Harry was gone, ducking into the shadows of a doorway tucked between dark shop windows.

Inside, a dirty, creaking old staircase rose into the murky light of a single bare light bulb swinging in the breeze caused by the open and closing of the door behind him. Harry, broom in hand, stowed his wand and climbed with weary steps. If he fell asleep immediately he'd still get in a few hours before he had to get up again.

The flat was on the second floor, directly above a muggle electronics shop and right below a dedicated trombone player. The walls were thin, the carpet threadbare, but the rent was cheap and no one seemed to notice when they had the occasional owl sweep through an open window delivering the morning post.

The light was on over the sink when Harry stepped into the cupboard-sized kitchen from the hall, leaning Ron's broom against the wall and dropping his keys on the overloaded Formica table covered in everything from forgotten mail and Weasley Wizard Weezes promotional items to dirty plates with bits of stale toast still on them.

Passing through the tiny living space, avoiding arm chairs and the sharp corners of end tables, Harry moved into the adjoining room where he and Ron shared sleeping quarters. Immediately after entering, he was hit with a small twittering ball of feathers carrying a letter. "Ouch!" Harry grabbed the miniscule owl and turned it over to read the name on the piece of parchment attached to its leg, rubbing his ear where it had hit him. His stomach turned over at the familiar writing.

"He's been bonkers all day wanting to give you that." Ron's voice met Harry in the dark from his pillow on his side of the room.

"Sorry," Harry took the letter, releasing Pigwidgon and going to sit by the window lit up with the light from the street lamp below.

"Must have been quite the tea," Ron turned over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning. "What'd McGonagall want?"

"What?" Harry looked up absently, having ripped open the binding on the parchment, eager to read what it said. "Oh, just…just had a question…"

"And that took all night?"

"Ah…no, sorry. Hagrid," he explained. "Hey, when did this come exactly?" he held the letter up.

Ron shrugged, falling back on his pillow ready to fall back to sleep. "Not long after you left. She probably wrote it on the train." There was a hint of disgusted sarcasm muffled by his pillow. "Couldn't wait to tell you all about everything that happened between the station and the first stop past London."

Ignoring Ron's comments, Harry tilted the page to cast more light on the words that flew off the page in a voice so familiar it hurt.

_Harry,_

_ I know we just saw one another, but I wanted to thank you for such a great weekend. Granted, Mum kind of drove everyone nutters though didn't she? But it wouldn't be a Weasley family holiday without her nagging, I suppose. George seems to be doing well. I think he likes having Ron around at the shop, though he would never admit it. Anyway, he was more like himself the past few days. Particularly when Dad tried to get those Muggles to teach him how to water ski, I think I laughed more at George's impersonation than of Dad's actual fall. Was it two flying flips or three? _

_ It's good to be back at camp, but from the posted schedule for tomorrow it's going to be a brutal week of training. I saw Wood at dinner and he said the closer we get to a match the harder they work us, and this from the man who used to make you play in gale-force winds and rain. They haven't posted the season schedules yet, but there's a rumor we'll be playing Bulgaria first match, so try to come! _

_ Don't be nervous about Auror training, Harry, you'll do great. How could you not? I wish I could be there to see you off in the morning like you did for me, but I will see you in a few weeks. Maybe we can finish that 'conversation' we were having yesterday. Take care, Harry._

_ Ginny_

Harry re-read the letter three times before folding it and laying it on his bedside table. Lying back on his bed, he stared at the shadows playing on the water-stained ceiling and replayed the best moments of the weekend through his mind. A short holiday at Bill and Fleur's, three days of salty air, sea breezes and Ginny. The night before Harry took her to the train to return to Quidditch training, they had walked the beach at sunset hand-in-hand, talking about nothing and everything. He used to fear never seeing her face, never feeling her fingers entwined in his. Never feel her soft kiss under a careless evening sky. Now they had all the time in the world and nothing to keep them apart; nothing except a professional Quidditch career and Auror training.

Harry rolled over, feeling sleep slowly steal over him. It didn't matter, it was only three years, and Ginny wouldn't play Quidditch forever. Plus, they would always have the weekends.

Ministry of Magic

"Honestly, Ronald, you're going to make us late."

"Then leave! Nothing's stopping you. Don't let me be the one keeping you from your work."

"Relax, Hermione." Harry rubbed his tired eyes, replaced his glasses, and bent to straighten the cuffs of his trousers over his shoes. "We have plenty of time."

"Not if we want to get there early," she argued, pacing the patch of cluttered floor in the sitting room anxiously. "I'm not going to start my first day by being late."

"We won't be late."

"Why are we even waiting for him anyway?"

"That's nice," Ron stuck his head out of the bathroom, mouth foamy with toothpaste, toothbrush sticking from his open mouth. "Such a sweet girlfriend I've got, Harry. Didn't I tell her to go on without me?"

"We're waiting," Harry argued, rising from the sofa and following Ron back into the bathroom to make an attempt at combing down his hair, "because it will be easier to apparate inside Diagon Alley than on a muggle street."

"Yes," Hermione huffed to the door with arms crossed and leaned against the frame just outside. "But we can do that without Ron. Like now," she looked at her wrist watch impatiently.

"Oi," Ron gestured to the fact that he was only dressed in a towel around the waist having just stepped out of the shower, shooing her back out the door. Hermione gave him a withering look.

"Don't be pathetic, you left the door open. Harry, please hurry," she pleaded. "My manual for Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures training is very explicit in its rules on tardiness, and besides that, I want to introduce myself to each of my superiors before hand, get to know them, ask a few questions…"

"A few?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look. "Go get dressed." Turning back toward the bathroom she addressed Harry who was in front of the mirror fixing his tie with some frustration. "I would think you would want to do the same, get to know your trainers, introduce yourself?"

"Introduce himself?" Ron scoffed from the bedroom. "He's Harry, Hermione. I think they know who he is. He knows the Minister personally, I'm sure he'll manage."

"Well, it can't hurt to be proactive," she argued, moving in and straightening the troublesome tie.

"I think you mean pushy," Harry replied, checking his refection one last time.

Hermione frowned. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Harry left the bathroom and headed for the door. "Ron, let's go."

"Hold on, I've got a knot." Ron rushed out of the bedroom holding a shoe with the laces all twisted. "It's a bloody mess, I can't get it undone."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Hermione grabbed the shoe. "What are you, a Squib?" Whipping out her wand, she tapped the shoelace which immediately loosened itself and became straight. "Come on!"

The street below was busy with early morning commuters and no one paid them any mind as they wound their way down the block and around a corner. The flat had many positives besides the cheap rent. Living in the muggle world was something that Harry had never imagined he would want to do again, but since his defeat of Voldemort, life in the Wizarding world had become a bit stressful. Witches and wizards of all sorts had always known his name but his fame had increased ten-fold since his success in taking down the most dreaded wizard of all time. It was welcoming, at least when it pertained to home life, to live among people who could care less who he was and didn't give a second glance to the faded scar on his forehead. Besides that, the flat was in close proximity to the Leaky Cauldron, a must for Ron who worked with his brother George at his shop in Diagon Alley.

Ducking inside the inn, the three of them pushed passed a growing crowd of traveling witches and wizards, some eating breakfast at the bar, others chatting while holding long scrolls of shopping lists. A pair of goblins passed in deep conversation on their way to Gringotts and Tom walked in from the back room carrying a towering tray of tea kettles steaming and whistling over his customers' heads.

Several eyes darted their direction as they politely pushed their way through. Many wished Harry a good day, a few tipped their hats, and even one hunched old wizard with a wart waddled forward and shook Harry's hand. Harry was reminded of his first visit to the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid when he was just eleven and uncomfortably attempted to make a speedy retreat to the alley behind the inn. Maybe they would try disapparating from the flat's rooftop from then on.

Hermione tapped the brick wall of the alleyway with her wand and they waited for the entrance to Diagon Alley to appear before stepping through and quickly making their way down the crowded street to the front entrance of Weasley Wizard Weezes.

"You're late, Ron." George opened the door as they approached, having just unlocked it for business. "Hi-ya Harry, Hermione." He nodded at them with smile. "Ready for your first day then?"

"Yes," Hermione replied anxiously. "And we need to get going. Have a good day, Ron." She said with a rapid kiss goodbye. "See you tonight."

"Yeah, dinner's upstairs," George directed a nod toward the flat he kept above his premises. "We'll celebrate your new career paths. Let's go Ronnie, work to be done. Puking Pastils to sell."

Harry supposed Ginny was right in thinking George was fairing a lot better than he had of late. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, as Hermione tugged his sleeve to get his attention, ready to disapparate into the Ministry. Preparing himself for the uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed through from one space to another, Harry turned on the spot and landed moments later in the atrium of the underground Magical offices. They had to report to the security desk to have their wands inspected and to be given instructions on where to go. The wizard behind the desk gave them each badges to attach to their clothes declaring them to be in training in their separate departments.

"Isn't this exciting?" Hermione could hardly contain herself as they moved into the long queue outside the lifts to take them to their perspective department levels. "I'm on level four, you're level two." She checked the slips of parchment they had received from security as they finally pushed their way behind the clanking doors of the lift. "Oh I'm so nervous, do you suppose they'll have us immediately working with magical creatures? I'm sure they won't, I mean not the first day."

"Hermione…"

"Oh! This is me. Have fun, Harry. See you!" She bounced out of the lift with flushed cheeks and Harry was only glad that she hadn't hugged him in her excitement as there were several others sharing the small space, all watching him with covert glances.

"Level two?" a voice behind him spoke over his shoulder and Harry turned to look upon the bluest pair of eyes he had ever seen. Beneath them was a curiously bemused half smile on a young attractive female face.

"Ah…level two, yeah. You?"

"What department?" she asked without answering.

"Auror office," he said, conscious of how close they were in the tight space. Her raven hair fell across her face near his ear as she leaned forward with that close-lipped smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Me too."

"Do I know you?" She seemed vaguely familiar to Harry.

"I doubt it, the only Ravenclaws you spent any time with at school was Luna."

Harry looked at her in surprise, turning slightly and accidentally knocking his elbow against a short, bearded wizard beside him. "You were in Ravenclaw?"

"A year behind you."

Harry racked his brain trying to place her name but came up empty as the lift door opened on level two and they were shunted out into the hall. He hadn't spent much time with many other Hogwarts students in any year but his own, except for his fellow Gryffindors. Even when he, Hermione, and Ron had returned to complete their seventh year, he had lived in Hogsmeade and they had done most of their lessons privately with Professor McGonagall. Harry had finished school alongside Ginny and her fellow seventh years but had hardly known any of them; certainly not the one walking down the hall toward the Auror headquarters.

"I'm sorry," he apologized for not recognizing her.

"Don't be," she shook her head, stopping outside the open door of their training office. Holding out her hand, she gave him a secretive smile. "It's nice to finally meet you, Harry Potter."

He returned the smiled and took the offered hand. "What's your name?"

"Diana." She released it and turned to enter the room. "Diana Wescott."

Harry followed, stepping into a rather cramped classroom of sorts, low-lit with only two small windows allowing in a magically conjured view of sunlight between intermittent clouds. At the front of the room opposite the door was a wall-sized blackboard covered in sprawling chalk writing which wiggled about on its own accord forming a group of instructions one moment before moving on and replacing itself with another. Harry caught the words "decoy" and "transfigure" as they chased one another in a zigzag pattern down the left edge of the board. A small podium stood before it, sheets of parchment littered about its base, rolls of scrolls stacked haphazardly on its surface.

Diana moved off around a row of small tables facing the podium to the opposite corner where several cabinets lined the wall full of books, instructional pamphlets and small devices used for detecting and aiding in capturing, many of which Harry was familiar with. Passing a table at the back of the room, he looked over its contents curiously; miniature foe-glasses, secrecy sensors and other dark detectors he didn't recognize. At the end he stopped, smiling at the small wooden bowl full of a black glittery substance he knew at once to be Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

"What?" Diana moved alongside him, noticing his look of amusement.

"Nothing," he turned as someone new entered the room wearing a heavy traveling cloak. He was young, short in stature but with a thick frame, sleek dark hair that fell past his ears, and a pointed prominent chin. He looked briefly at Harry and Diana, turning away without acknowledgment and briskly removed his cloak to hang it on a hook by the door. Diana exchanged a look with Harry, eyebrows raised.

"Hello," she attempted to engage the newcomer politely.

He turned stiffly as though just realizing they were there. "Oh, hello," he nodded curtly with a brisk American accent before turning back and giving the room a probing once-over.

"You're American," Diana seemed interested.

He looked at her with a pinched, pompous expression. "Raised so, yes, but Canadian born," as if this clarified things. Harry wondered what a Canadian-born American wizard was doing training to be a British Auror, but didn't have the opportunity to ask as they were soon joined by their Superior who walked briskly into the room and, with an unexpectedly booming voice, told them to take a seat so they may begin.

"I am Margaret Dale and I will be your Auror Instructor for the first phase of your training here at the Ministry." She was a robust woman, tall in pointed heels and finely-tailored robes, in her middle years with her light hair pulled back in a very McGonagall-like bun at the back of her head. Her face, however, was as much un-McGonagall-like as was possible. Ms. Dale had a strong jaw with a determined but likeable expression with twinkling eyes that betrayed her sense of adventure and dedication for her position. "These next three years will be a test of your abilities, your endurance on the field and your strength against some of the darkest forces we of the Wizarding race will have to face. Simply because a certain dark wizard is out of the picture," she gave Harry a fleeting dart of the eyes, "doesn't mean everything is as safe as it should be. It will be your job as an Auror to hunt down any and all dangers and eliminate them in a safe and respectable manner before they grow too strong. It is my job to teach you how."

Ms. Dale began their first few hours of training by loading them down with several feet of parchment: legal documents that needed to be read and signed before they could continue. She left them to this, disappearing with instructions to read every word carefully and jot down any questions to be answered when she returned. Not exactly the thrilling start Harry had hoped for, but he settled in at one of the tables and started to read.

_You, the Auror-in-Training, hereby accept the responsibilities of the position, henceforth considering yourself under obligation of the Great Britain Ministry of Magic to follow all rules, regulations, and conditions stated in the following…_

…_any rule breaking or insubordination will result in an immediate expulsion from the training program in which the accused will be given a fair trial under the direction of the Wizagamont in which they may present their case for re-instatement…_

…_any injuries, amputations, splinchings or spell damage as the result of your training must be reported to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and a hearing will be scheduled to determine the responsibility of the incident in question…_

"Amputations and splinchings?" Diana spoke up from her table next to Harry's. He looked over and caught her shaking her head with a smile, clearly more excited than worried. "They're very encouraging aren't they?"

He laughed, leaning back in his chair and picking up the parchment, already tired of reading. "Yeah, especially the part on _'the Ministry is not responsible for any training operations resulting in death…' _"

"Where's it say that?" she quickly ducked her head back over her paper, searching for the line.

"Paragraph ten, section B."

"Blimey, I can't wait for that training exercise," she grew visibly giddy. "I wonder what they'll have us do?"

"Perhaps subdue dragons?"

Both Harry and Diana looked around as the American spoke. His head was bent over his contract and after a pause he glanced over it at them with a placid face. "But that wouldn't be a problem for you would it?" There wasn't any humor in the stare that Harry received from him, nor any malice or curiosity. The American was as unreadable as blank parchment.

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "It's been a few years; I'm bit out of practice I think."

"Yeah," Diana smiled teasingly. "And I don't suppose they'll allow you to use a broom for many of these exercises."

"I guess I'm in trouble then," Harry replied humorously and faced forward, prepared to plug on through the heavy reading.

"I'm actually quite surprised," the American continued. "I wouldn't think you'd need any training at all, Mr. Potter. I would have assumed they would have just awarded you Minister of Magic right off the bat." There was no mistaking his feelings behind his words this time. Harry stiffened slightly, turning back to look him once again. "Isn't that the majority opinion over here? That Harry Potter is Wizard Royalty?" The American looked at Diana to confirm this, a faint trace of a sneer appearing on his thin lips. Diana didn't oblige him with a reply, though she looked prepared to say something else. Harry cut her off.

"Look, can we just get back to reading?"

"What's your name?" Diana ignored him, addressing the offending foreigner.

"Devon Goldberg," he replied haughtily, removing his gaze and returning to his paper before him on the table.

"And why, Devon Goldberg, are you here?"

"Here, as in London? Here, as in the Ministry, or the Auror office itself? Be clear, woman."

Harry glanced apprehensively at Diana whose eyes flashed like ice in deep water.

"I meant, why are you here wasting space and our time, you unintelligent pig."

Devon regarded her coolly; face falling back into its blank, unmovable stare. "I needed a change of scenery," he said. "Your Ministry had an opening in its training program and they accepted my application. Apparently there were many openings since our friend Mr. Potter changed the course of history and outted many Ministry workers under the employ of a certain dark wizard."

"His name was Voldemort, and yeah, I did," Harry retorted. "Without any Canadian-American help."

"Don't you have your own Ministry to work for?" Diana regarded Goldberg with deep dislike.

"Your European charm is so welcoming."

"Your American chauvinism is appalling."

"Can we get back to reading?" Harry repeated, speaking over then both. "Ms. Dale will be back soon and she expects us to be finished."

Diana held her cold glare a prolonged moment before she turned with a flick of her long hair and settled roughly in her seat. The room fell silent and Harry attempted to focus on the contract, pushing away feelings of anger toward Goldberg and his opinions. It was the same everywhere, either overdone expressions of gratitude or sneering dislike and jealousy. Harry just wished everyone would forget about what he had done and get to know him for what he could do. He didn't want to just get by on his famous name; he wanted to learn like everyone else how to become the best Auror he could be. But he should have known it wouldn't be that easy, that there would always be guys like Goldberg reminding him of the view the world had for unintentional heroes.

Ms. Dale returned to collect their paperwork and released them for a short break before she gave them a tour of the facilities. Harry and Diana left Goldberg to his own devices and stepped into the hall to take a stroll and stretch their legs.

"What a little wanker," she retorted as soon as they were out of earshot, passing the water cooler and several open office doors with flying memos zooming in and out.

Harry agreed with her whole-heartedly but gave Goldberg the benefit of the doubt. "He probably just feels threatened, you know, being from America and coming here."

"Well, he never should've left then," she wasn't sympathetic. "Ooh, look!" Diana pointed excitedly at a closed door at the end of the hall labeled 'Evidence.' "Come on," grabbing Harry's arm she dragged him toward it, prepared to enter.

Harry looked hesitantly over his shoulder at the deserted hallway. "I don't think we're supposed to just go snooping around—look, see it's locked."

"No worries," she took out her wand and tapped it, releasing the lock with a click. Harry thought that the Auror offices should have considered a more sure-proof way of keeping people out than that.

Diana pushed open the door on a long cool storage closet lined with shelves. Pulling Harry inside, she shut the door and enclosed them in darkness. "Lumos," her wand ignited, reflecting in her eyes before she directed it around the room, carefully inspecting the objects on the crowded shelves. Harry saw such things as threatening looking daggers with little tags labeled with serial numbers and signed with a department wizard's initials. There were boxes of papers labeled 'testimony' and dusty jars of incased memories. Holding up his own wand, Harry lighted it to read the scrolling writing on the curling paper labels. A name on a rust colored bottle caught his eye, causing him to stop. Moving an obstructing bottle for a better view, he looked closer. The inscription on it read: 'evidence for R. J. Lupin given by A.P.W.B.D.' Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"Hey, check this out!" Diana whispered excitedly from farther down the aisle, holding up a clanking chained steel trap with razor sharp teeth. "I can just imagine what crime this was evidence for."

Harry wasn't listening, holding the bottle with Lupin and Dumbledore's names written on it, wondering himself what crime his god-son's father had committed that Dumbledore had to give evidence for.

There were voices outside the door, and nearly dropping the memory, Harry hastily replaced it while Diana motioned for him to quickly follow her to the end of the aisle. "Put out your wand!" she grabbed his arm and pushed him into a corner hidden by towering boxes of evidence and dousing her own wand.

"Knox," Harry muttered just as the door swung open and light from the hall streamed in behind two conversing wizards.

"I told Farmers that I put that document on his desk weeks ago, but of course he claims he never got it."

"How would he notice, his desk's the aftermath of a hurricane on top of a tornado."

"That's what I said—" The two walked halfway down the aisle, the first writing something on a envelope while the other held up his wand to give him light. They stored the envelope of evidence on a shelf and turned to leave, berating Farmers for his untidy tendencies.

Harry breathed in relief as the door closed, feeling Diana move beside him in the dark. She re-lit her wand and they looked at one another, chuckling in nervous laughter.

"We should get back," he said, side-stepping her to remove himself from the tight space of the corner.

"Yeah," Diana followed. "Break's over."

Passing the row of shelves stacked with memories, Harry cast a glance over the one he had replaced and, though tempted to take it, he walked on by out the door and back into the hall.

Ms. Dale's tour of the facilities led through more offices buzzing with the chatter of Aurors in their cubicles and work rooms where tests were being done on new potions or devices to change a wizard's appearance or encourage an unwilling wrong-doer to divulge information. In one room, several Aurors were going through what looked like an expanded obstacle course, fighting off every sort of conjured threat to exercise and put to practice their defensive skills. Harry watched with interest as a tall, slim witch blocked a spell and twisted gracefully around to cast another at a boggart which flew out from a curtain in the wall to her left.

"This is more like it," Diana's face lit up with anticipation.

"Don't get too excited, Miss Wescott," Ms. Dale called over her shoulder, leading them on. "You're several months away from this stage of your training."


	2. Chapter 2

**Weasley Wizarding Weezes**

At the end of Harry's first day he was mentally exhausted but anxious to move forward. Despite Goldberg's negativity and lurking manor, he was pleased with his fellow trainees and more than happy with his instructor who seemed ready to teach them everything she knew. Leaving the offices at the end of the day, he passed a glance at the room marked 'Evidence' and decided to push the memory from his mind. There was nothing he could do about it— he should've never seen it in the first place. Perhaps someday, when his training was complete and he had access to all the files and evidence, he would have reason to check into it further. For the time being, it wouldn't do him any good to wonder, and there was no one left to ask.

"Harry!" Hermione bounded up from a lift she had just vacated, spotting him across the atrium where he waited for her beside the newly re-designed fountain. The statues that now stood on the plinth above the pool of water showed a proud-faced wizard hand-in-hand with a witch on equal level with a house elf, a goblin, and a bold-looking centaur, all with their heads uplifted in a dignified manner. Harry turned from examining the statues as Hermione ran up, face aglow with excitement.

"How was it? What did they teach you? Oh, I learned so much and it's just the first day! There are so many magical creatures, each with their own set of laws and restrictions on proper care and how to maintain them. I can't believe I never knew there was such thing as a Mortle-rat—"

"A what?" Harry laughed as they made their way through the emptying atrium to the disapparation area.

"A Mortle-rat, Harry, they're such interesting creatures. Tiny little furry animals that live underground and can swim with amazing swiftness. They showed several they had confiscated from someone trying to do an illegal trade out of the country. Apparently they are an endangered species and are highly valuable for their organs' usefulness in potion making…" They stopped and turned on the spot, disapparating and reappearing in Diagon Alley a few paces down from George's shop. The sun was going down behind Gringotts and the lights of the shop windows were lit with a warm, welcoming glow. A few last-minute shoppers moved about on the cobblestone streets and the sound of laughter drifted from the open door of the ice cream parlor.

Hermione continued to yammer on about Mortle-rats and other obscure creatures before heading off to meet Ron. Harry stopped, letting her get ahead. "Harry?" she turned when she notice he wasn't with her.

"I'll be right there," he told her to go on without him. Crossing the street he stopped outside the open door of Ollivander's, the soft light of dozens of candles cascading out onto the stoop. "Luna," Harry smiled as his old friend turned from fastening a notice to the window outside the shop.

"Hello, Harry Potter," Luna greeted him in her dreamy way, reaching out and giving him a small hug.

"What are you doing here?"

"Working," she nodded back toward the wand-maker's shop. "I'm Ollivander's apprentice now."

"And a damn fine one too." The aging wand-maker himself stepped into the doorway, smiling down on Harry with twinkling eyes.

"Ollivander," Harry returned the greeting, pumping the gnarled old hand. "How are you?"

"Fine, Mr. Potter, just fine," he assured him. "I have heard a rumor that you are becoming an Auror."

"Trying to," Harry nodded.

"Naturally," the old man bowed. "Miss Lovegood, I will lock up now if you please, and will see you bright and early in the morning."

"Yes, Mr. Ollivander." She stepped down the shop's steps as he softly closed the door with a click, locking it for the night. "What brings you here at this time of day, Harry?" Luna turned and walked with him up the street toward Weasley Wizard Weezes.

"Dinner, at George Weasley's," he pointed. "You should join us. Ron and Hermione are here too."

"Oh, I'd love to, but Daddy's waiting for me at home. We're having an important correspondent from Transylvania around for dinner and I need to get back to make the newberry pudding."

"Oh, right. Another time then?"

She nodded, blinking her bright wide eyes under the light of George's shop. "How's Ginny?" she asked watching the whirling and swirling of the fantastic displays. "I miss her; she was always so nice to me."

"She's good," Harry turned and watched the window as well, not really seeing the joke gadgets and toys. "Busy training for the upcoming season."

"For the Holyhead Harpies? Yes, she said she had joined up with them." Luna looked back at him. "I suppose someone has to."

"Right," Harry wasn't sure what she meant by that.

"Well, good to see you, Harry." She put a hand on his, squeezing it in a departing gesture with a warm smile.

"Take care, Luna."

She walked away, disappearing just beyond the shadows of Eyelop's Owl Emporium. Harry watched until she was gone before stepping inside the empty shop, finding George behind the counter jotting figures in a large open book before him.

"Oh, hi, Harry," he looked up briefly. "The lot's upstairs. Go on up, I'll just be a second. Angelina's cooking tonight, so be prepared," his gaze drifted to the ceiling with a meaningful look. "How did the first day go, then?"

"Good," Harry crossed the room, absent-mindedly touching a spinning object which seemed to serve no purpose other than to shriek and cause disturbance. "It went really well."

"Excellent. Oh, here." George waved his wand around the shop and instantly all was still and quiet. Dimming the lights, he walked around the counter to lock up. Harry walked ahead through the back room to a twisted, slanting staircase winding up to the top floor and George's living quarters. At the top he noticed two Dragon-skin jackets on hooks right outside the door hanging with a stiff look of disuse. A light emitted from under the crack in the door and, when Harry opened it, he stepped into a warm spacious flat with sparse furnishing, unnaturally tidy for its occupant. Angelina greeted him from the kitchen looking flushed in the steam emitting from the stove and a grouping of boiling pots and pans. He found Ron and Hermione in the adjoining room seated comfortably on the sofa, Hermione giving animated details of her first day on the job.

"Harry," Ron looked grateful for his arrival motioning for him to take a seat and change the subject. "Tell me about it, mate. Did you fight off any vampires or track down any wanted wizards?"

"Not exactly." Harry told them about his morning of signing forms and Ms. Dale's tour. Ron made a face.

"That's it? They do know what you've done, don't they? You're kind-of past that."

"It was the first day," Harry countered. "We'll get to vampires soon enough, I expect."

"How many do you have in your class?" Hermione asked. "There were four other trainees besides myself, five total—"

"Yeah five total, we heard," Ron interrupted, receiving a scathing look from Hermione before he turned back to Harry. "But did you learn any new spells or anything?"

"Nope," Harry shook his head. "We had three," he answered Hermione's question. "Some bloke from America and Diana Wescott."

"An American?"

"Diana Wescott?" both Ron and Hermione spoke at once.

"Yeah, do you know her?" Harry addressed Hermione first.

"Of course, she was a Ravenclaw prefect. Don't you remember her?"

Harry shook his head having a hard time believing that the Diana Wescott he met had ever been awarded a prefect badge.

"Who was the American?" Ron interrupted.

"Canadian-American," Harry pointed out cynically. "A real swell guy to be around too, I assure you. Says he wanted a change of scenery so he came over here and joined up."

Ron looked confused. "Can he do that?"

"Of course he can," Hermione rolled her eyes. "There's nothing that says you have to only work for your own Ministry. There's transfers all the time. On my training staff we have a trainee who's from India. She's really nice—"

"So he's a real prat, is he?" Ron asked Harry who shared all his feelings about the pompous Mr. Goldberg. George joined them from downstairs and wanted a re-telling of the day's events while he and Angelina set the table, calling everyone over to share the meal. Popping open a bottle of elf-made wine, he poured a round for them all and sniffed curiously at the steaming food before his plate when Angelina's back was turned. Shrugging, he nodded for the other's to dish up at their own risk.

"Did Ron tell you the news?" he sat at his place at the front of the table.

"What news?" Harry asked over a sip of wine. George gave his brother a look of disbelief.

"What?" Ron defended himself with a mouth full of pasta. "I forgot."

"We got an owl from Mum this afternoon, Fleur had the baby."

"What!" Hermione shrieked, nearly dropping her wine glass. "But she wasn't due for another two weeks!"

"The kid has ambition," George shrugged. "Can't blame it really, for wanting to escape a little early." Harry and Ron laughed into their dinner plates.

"Well," Hermione overly excited. "What was it? Girl or boy? What did they name it?"

"Girl," Angelina set butter on the table and took a seat. "Victoire."

"That's so sweet, and to think we just saw her the other day still pregnant and walking around the house."

"Storming more like," George interjected. "_Oh it iz so hot, look at my 'orrible troll feet, don't look zat me Bill, I'm an elephant!_"

"Stop it," Angelina scolded behind a suppressed laugh.

"I feel for the kid." Ron shook his head. "A part veela for a mum, a half werewolf for a dad; she'll be luring all the boys at Hogwarts to candle-lit dinners of raw meat."

"You two are so mean," Hermione fought back a smile. "She's probably the sweetest, most beautiful baby in the world."

"Hear, hear," George banged the table with his fork.

"To Bill and Fleur," Harry raised his glass.

"To Victoire," Everyone followed suit, toasting the happy little family by the sea.

"Speaking of babies," Angelina put down her wine. "How's Teddy, Harry?"

"Last I heard he was doing well," he replied. "I got a letter from Andromeda maybe a week ago. She sent a picture of him riding his birthday present. Just from the photo I can tell he inherited his mother's gracefulness." he commented to appreciative chuckles. "I'm going for a visit next weekend." Harry thought of the bright-eyed little miniature Tonks and Lupin riding around on a toy broom that Harry had bought him for his birthday, carrying on the tradition of Quidditch playing godfathers. At least that's what he'd thought when he'd purchased it.

"Enough about babies," George interjected. "I've seen enough of bratty kids for one day."

"Those bratty kids pay for your livelihood," Angelina argued.

"Their parents pay for my livelihood, and it wouldn't hurt them to leave the dirty-pawed mongrels at home once in a while. Hogwarts age I can deal with. It's these slick-fingered toddlers coming and sucking on my trick wands that gets me."

They sat around the table long after the food was gone, talking and laughing, reminiscing about old Quidditch matches and their days at Hogwarts. Harry filled them in on his plans to work for Professor McGonagall teaching Quidditch that year to many cheers of approval.

"What happened to Madame Hooch?" Angelina asked.

"Retired, moved to the south of France."

"Wow, Harry, this is brilliant!" Ron grinned. "Who better to teach those midgets how to fly than you?"

"You could teach them a few other things too," George suggested. "Like how to catch a snitch with your mouth…"

"Or ward off dementors mid-dive…"

"Or how not to break your arm with a flying bludger."

"I could teach you lot to shut up for starters, that would help."

It was late when George kicked them out, sending them out into the street to wind their way home under the glow of the street lamps. Harry and Ron went out of their way to walk Hermione to her flat before heading back themselves. It was another late night, but Harry wasn't tired. Happy with his first day at the Ministry, an enjoyable evening with friends, and spurred on by the wine, he couldn't settle down to sleep right away. Who needed sleep? Besides, he had a letter to write to Ginny.

Back at the flat on Diagon Alley, Angelina stood at the sink washing up the night's dishes, elbow deep in suds. George brought her the last of the wine glasses, setting them down on the counter. "You know it would take two seconds if you let me do that myself," he motioned with his wand.

"I know," she smiled. "But I like to do them, it's relaxing."

George looked incredulous but shrugged, leaving her to it. "At least let me dry and put them away properly." He magically dried and stacked the plates, tucking them away in the cupboard and moving on to the cutlery. "Thanks for cooking dinner, it was excellent."

"Really?" she looked doubtful.

"Yeah," George tried to look sincere. "You're definitely improving."

"Whatever, you dolt," Angelina wasn't buying it, draining the dirty dishwater as George dried the last glass and sent it flying to its place on the shelf beside the others. Stepping out of the kitchen, she reached for her things to call it a night.

"Leaving already?" George followed. "There's still more wine," he picked up the nearly depleted bottle off the table. "At least help me finish it."

"That's the last thing I need more of," she laughed, back-stepping toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. "I'll see you later, George."

"Tomorrow?" he leaned against the table with the bottle loose in his hand, watching her.

"Maybe…" Angelina remained where she was, the distance between them gaping and obvious, as if something was missing that should have filled the space. "Goodnight."

" 'Night." The door closed behind her, and as she passed down the stairs, her hand brushed the sleeve of Fred's jacket, hanging just as he had left it.

**Weekend Visit**

Harry was exhausted. He knew it wasn't supposed to be easy, but this was mind-numbing. Hour after hour in that tiny, enclosed training room memorizing procedures and protocol until he thought his head would cave under the pressure. Ms. Dale had gotten them out of their seats for a short time that morning for a physical exercise in practical defensive spells, but for the rest of the day she had drilled them endlessly on everything they had learned in the past two weeks.

Ms. Dale raised the lights, having shown them several slides on the board and Harry blinked his tired eyes, stretching his stiff limbs. All the information was incredibly important, and actually quite interesting, but there was so much to consume in such a small time. Harry wasn't sure if he could keep it all straight.

"Brutal," Diane groaned, standing when Ms. Dale released them for the day. "Thank goodness it's Friday, I could use a few days off."

"Same here." Harry grabbed his stack of notes off his desk and stashed them in his satchel. "Maybe a few weeks."

"You didn't find it all enlightening?" Goldberg asked from his table, still scratching his parchment with his quill.

"Illuminating," Harry replied, catching Diana's eye.

Goldberg glanced up stoic-faced, missing the sarcasm. "I particularly found the theory on tracking and detecting werewolves interesting." His eyes fell on Harry and he returned the stare, unblinking. Just how much did this American know? Had he kept a running tab on all of Harry's old acquaintances and adventures? An avid reader of Rita Skeeter, no doubt, if indeed her articles traveled as far as the west side of the ocean.

"Didn't we all," Diana said in a bored voice. "Well, have an enlightening weekend, Goldberg." She moved off toward the door and Harry followed, his mind unwillingly returning to the dusty memory tucked away down the hall. "Forget him," Diana misread Harry's thoughts. "He's an idiot. Hey, how about going for a drink, start the weekend off right?"

Harry returned from his reverie looking at her in mild surprise. "Oh, ah—"

"Harry!"

He turned with a beating heart, startled by the sound of a familiar voice at the door. "Ginny? What…what are you doing here? I thought I was going to meet you at the train?"

"I came early," she beamed at him, reaching for a fierce hug. "Orders of Coach Tisdale, he knew I was coming to London and needed me to deliver something to the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Since I was here, I figured I'd surprise you," she glanced around the room, taking it all in. "Is this where you're training?" Her gaze landed on Diana. "Diana Wescott? I didn't know you were becoming an Auror, how are you?"

"Great, Ginny, how are you? How's Quidditch?" Her smile seemed less than genuine, and Harry shifted uncomfortably, hitching on a smile of his own for Ginny.

"It's good; a lot of work, but it's been a blast. Have they been training you hard? Harry's told me a little in his letters, but he never mentioned you, Diana. It makes sense though, you becoming an Auror, you were always the adventurous one at school."

Diana laughed, eyes meeting with Harry's briefly. "What has Luna been telling you? Not much truth I suppose. But yeah, I've always wanted to be an Auror ever since my grandmother was one."

"That's great," Ginny responded. "Well, shall we, Harry?"

"Yeah, bye." He waved to Diana on his way out the door.

"See you Monday, Potter."

"Well, well." Ginny gave him a humorous look as they stepped into the lift. "Diana Wescott, Miss Ravenclaw herself."

"What?" Harry furrowed his brow quizzically.

"Nothing," Ginny tossed back her hair carelessly. "She's very nice."

"Yeah…"

"Very pretty."

"Yeah…no." Harry looked flustered until she laughed.

"I'm just messing with you, relax." She leaned in and kissed him in the empty lift. "She'll make a beautiful Auror to be sure," she teased.

"Not as beautiful as you."

"Yeah, except I play Quidditch."

"A beautiful Quidditch player."

"Damn straight."

They all met for dinner at the Leaky Cauldron, George and Angelina, Ron and Hermione, and even Luna came at Ginny's request when Harry took her down to see her at Ollivander's. They laughed and talked over Tom's finest roast and potatoes as the occupants of the Inn moved about the tables and drank pints of meade in front of the roaring fire. Ginny regaled them with stories from the Quidditch pitch about her practices that went on for endless hours in the autumn rains under the direction of her battle-ax coach with a relentless work regime.

"You'd think with a coach like that the Harpies would have a better record," Ron commented.

"Thanks, Ron." Ginny gave him a piercing look.

"Well they've never had you play for them before have they?" he added. "Things could change."

"Let's hope so," she accepted the apology of sorts, Harry squeezing her hand under the table in reassurance.

"Mum and Dad coming down tomorrow?" George asked.

"Yeah, they're dropping by our place for dinner," Ron affirmed. "And you better show, or Mum'll have a fit."

"Who's cooking?"

"Me," Ginny piped in. "And Hermione."

"Well, that's okay then." George accepted the invitation, winking at Angelina.

"You're to come too, Angelina, and you, Luna, if you can make it."

Luna looked up from her plate not having heard a word of their conversation, smiling vaguely at her with a distracted expression.

"How many people are coming?" Ron looked taken back. "Where're they all going to fit do you think?"

"In the sitting room, Ronald, where else?" Hermione shook her head like it was obvious.

Walking Ginny and Hermione back to her flat later, the four of them took their time in the quiet deserted streets. Hand-in-hand, the two couples walked one in front of the other, speaking in low tones and watching sporadic traffic move by on the cross streets.

"Since when did George start seeing Angelina?" Ginny asked as they rounded the corner on Hermione's street. Harry thought about this.

"I didn't know they were," he really hadn't noticed.

"Oh, please," Ginny snorted in disbelief. "Ron?"

"How should I know?" he asked over his shoulder.

"You work with him every day, how could you not?"

"Well, I didn't exactly ask."

"You shouldn't have to," Hermione said. "It's so obvious. They've been together for about a week, officially that is," she answered Ginny's question.

"How do you know?"

"I have eyes, Ronald." They a walked ahead to the door of the flat, leaving Harry and Ginny behind.

"Is that a problem?" Harry caught her look of concern.

"No," she frowned. "I mean, it's a bit odd don't you think?"

Harry hadn't thought about it all. He had just received the notification, how could he have had time to even consider it odd or otherwise? "What do you mean?"

"Well…it's just, she was Fred's girlfriend."

"Yeah."

"You don't think that's a little strange?" Ginny made a face and Harry stopped walking, looking at her blankly, trying to catch up. "Harry, George isn't Fred."

Another good point, but not any less confusing.

"I just hope Angelina realizes that." She looked away down the street with a continued look of concern.

"I'm sure she does," Harry assured her, finally getting her meaning. "I mean, they both miss him, a lot. Maybe it's good that they have each other."

"I hope so." Returning her attention to him, Ginny pushed her worries from her mind for the moment to tell him goodnight. "I'll see you in the morning?"

Harry pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist and looked down on her face lit up with the warm glow of the late-night café up the street. They kissed softly, holding it a long, lingering moment before pulling away. "Goodnight." She squeezed his hand, stepping back towards the entrance to the flat tucked back in the alcove. "Oi, Ron!" Harry called out. "Quit snogging and let's go."

Ron appeared from the shadows, waved to Hermione, and bid Ginny a goodnight as she passed him with a teasing grin. "I wasn't the only one, mate."


	3. Chapter 3

**Dinner at the Flat**

The door of the flat flew open and Hermione entered, loaded down with a large paper sack of groceries in each arm, having just returned from the market. Looking flustered and rushed, she deposited them on the counter with a heavy sigh. "You haven't moved since I left. You could have at least cleared off the table. Where do you expect everyone to eat?"

Her admonitions were received in silence as the other three were sprawled out in the sitting room, Ron in the wobbly armchair by the window, Harry and Ginny cozy on the couch, all three with their eyes on the screen of the second-hand television in the corner. Harry had purchased it recently to give Ron a new prospective on muggle sports and, at the moment, they were in the middle of watching a game of tennis. Ron, not getting the point of the game at all, was otherwise mesmerized by the concept of the moving pictures on the screen. "It's like a photo, but…different."

Ginny was less enthralled with the game than she was just comfortable, half asleep where she lay curled against Harry's side, playing with his fingers where his hand was draped across her stomach. After weeks of exhausting workouts, she was content to simply sit and do nothing.

There was banging and commotion from the kitchen as Hermione searched for pots and pans, muttering to herself in concentration. "Do you at least have a ladle?"

"What the hell's a ladle?" Ron muttered, leaning on his elbows, eyes squinting at the screen. "They actually consider this a sport?" he looked at Harry in disbelief.

"In most countries, yeah."

"It's absurd. How can it be a sport with only two players and no contact or nothing?"

"I dunno, mate, it just is."

"Dandy little uniforms though, aren't they," Ginny interjected.

There was a crash and a light curse from somewhere in the kitchen.

"Alright there, Hermione?" Harry leaned his head back against the couch, speaking over his shoulder.

"No! Assistance would be much _appreciated_!"

Ginny rolled off the couch onto her feet. "I did say I'd help, I suppose. Although you two could pitch in as well, this place really is a mess."

"It has character," Harry argued.

"It has cobwebs." She disappeared around the sofa into the kitchen, leaving him to glance over the room in search of offending spiders building their homes between the radiator and Harry's old Hogwarts trunk shoved up under the window. Taking out his wand, he made an attempt to tidy up a little, causing a stack of books to fly off a side table and collide with Ron's head.

"Watch it!" he picked one up and flung it at Harry.

"Sorry," he tried again and only managed to get them to hit the opposite wall and fall in a heap on the floor. "I still can't get the hang of non-verbal spells," he frowned at his wand.

"Doesn't the Ministry require you to use them in your Auror training?" Hermione asked, filling a pot under the tap.

"Doesn't mean I can."

"You just need to practice." Hermione's answer to everything. Harry thought of what Goldberg would say to his mediocre spell casting and determined to work harder. Concentrating on the incantation, he pointed his wand at a pile of rubbish on the floor in front of the television and sent it flying towards the waste basket where more than half landed on the floor outside of it. But a few scraps made it in, so it was something.

"Alright," Ginny got out her own wand, finishing what he had started and getting all the trash in the right place. "Get up, both of you," she walked over and turned off the TV.

"Hey!" Ron objected. "It was just getting interesting!"

"Not likely," she headed back to the kitchen. "Get to work; Mum will be here in an hour."

"Yes, _ma'am_."

"Watch it Harry, I don't need any practice in non-verbal spells."

Ron and Harry grudgingly got out of their seats and de-cluttered the sitting room, tossing everything behind the closed door of their bedroom and tackling the pile on the table until it was clear enough to set for dinner. By moving the couch back and bringing in a folding table and some extra chairs, they had enough room to lay out a nice spread. Hermione and Ginny covered the tables with cheery cloths and lit candles between the dinner plates. They finished with a few moments to spare and Harry had to admit the effect was nice. The flat was cleaner than it had been since they had moved in, the windows were steamy with the warmth of cooking food wafting its aroma throughout the room, and the candles gave it a welcoming glow.

"Well done," he put an arm around Ginny while she stacked fresh rolls onto a plate to set out on the table. She beamed, nodding.

"It'll do, even Mum shouldn't be able to find too much to criticize."

A few moments later there as a knock at the door and when Ron opened it, Arthur and Molly entered, George and Angelina close behind.

"Ron, Hermione hello," Mrs. Weasley embraced them all. "Ginny, dear, you look peaky, don't they feed you at that camp?"

"Yes, Mum." Ginny waved her off and turned to give her father a hug. "Dad."

"Ginny, how are you? I've heard good things about your team this year, you'll take the cup I'd wager—is that…is that one of those, what's it called, Harry? A tele-visionary box?" he pointed with eager enthusiasm at the television. Hurrying over, he bent low and caught his own reflection in the blank screen. Transfixed by all the knobs and buttons, Arthur examined the back, looking for the power cord.

"Fascinating! To think, my son living in a muggle flat and watching one of their eclectical devices."

Ron impatiently pulled his father away from the television and they all sat down to eat, Molly bringing out a container full of stuffed mushrooms and candied yams to add to the table.

"Mum, we made enough food for everyone," Ginny gave her an exasperated look.

"Of course you did, dear, and it's all wonderful. I just brought these along for extra. Oh, and I almost forgot to show you!" she said in a manner that clearly meant that she hadn't. "New pictures of the baby!" She pulled a stack of photos from her handbag and began passing them around while everyone loaded up their plates.

"She's adorable!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Poor twit got Bill's nose though, didn't she." George frowned over a photo, scooping potatoes onto his plate.

"Oh, George, shush," Molly scolded. "They'll be up for Christmas, so all of you be sure to come. Your parents won't mind, will they Hermione?"

"No, I can't imagine they would."

"Good, it will be nice to have the house full again, won't it, Arthur?"

"Yes, dear," he replied, eyes on the television. "So how does it work, exactly? How do they put the moving pictures into the box without magic?" He looked to Harry who had absolutely no idea about the inner workings of any electronic device.

"I really don't know, sorry, Mr. Weasley."

This didn't seem to curb his enthusiasm in the least and while cutting his chicken, he scanned the flat for any more items of interest. Hermione soon engaged him in a conversation about the Control of Magical Creatures division at the Ministry, and Molly talked animatedly with Ginny about Victoire. Harry caught Ginny's eye and flashed her an amused smile as she rolled her eyes. Watching her among all her family made him realize just how much he missed her when she wasn't around. Even then he felt a pang of loneliness he couldn't explain while sitting across from her at the table in a room full of people. The day that they would finally be together every day, never having to say goodbye or leave one another for the night, seemed ages away.

"Hey, Harry," Ron leaned over and jabbed him in the arm, pulling him from his thoughts. "Tell George about tennis, he doesn't believe me that it's a real sport."

"No sport's a sport without contact," George shook his head in disbelief.

"See, what'd I say? Didn't I say that?"

"The ball makes contact with the racket," Harry gave a lame argument.

"A racket?" George raised his eyebrows. "A racket, well Ron, how foolish of me to doubt you. Yes, a game called 'tennis' played with a 'racket.' Well that's definitely got to be taken seriously. How have we not followed it sooner?"

"Or joined a team ourselves? Oh, wait…this sport has no teams; you're on your own, mate."

"Best go find my racket."

"You two are hilarious," Harry assured them. "But just wait until you've seen Wimbledon."

"Been there," George looked at him blankly. "What's it got to do with tennis?"

**Flying Lessons**

"The first thing you need to know about riding a broom is not to be nervous. The broom will sense your hesitation and react to it, resulting in possible throw-offs which you do not want." Harry stood before a line of wide-eyed first years staring up at him beside their immobile training brooms on the sunny grounds of Hogwarts. He wasn't sure if their looks of apprehension were from the idea of being bucked off a broom or from standing before Harry himself. When he had first stepped up to the clustered class of chattering students, he had received dozens of fleeting glances and several dropped jaws at his arrival.

Moving on, he paced up and down in front of them naming off rules and giving instructions on mounting and taking off. He could tell just by looking which students were experienced flyers taught at home and which had never considered even the possibility of riding through the air on any instrument normally found in a cupboard.

"On my signal, grip the handle tightly with both hands and push off from the ground."

They all moved to position themselves obediently as instructed, sneaking peeks at their neighbors to ensure they were doing it properly. "I said on my signal, Abrams, hold up a minute. Foster, keep your broom to yourself, do that again and it'll be detention." He waited until they were all ready before blowing his whistle sending several of them forward in adequate take-offs, others lurched forward merely a few feet and stumbled back to the ground. Still other brooms remained completely still, causing them to fall backwards into the grass.

Harry set them to work fine-tuning their turns, take-offs, and landings, ending the lesson after an hour-and-a-half feeling that there was some potential in all of them at some level at least. Gathering the brooms, he took them down to the store cupboard inside the team changing rooms at the Quidditch pitch, stacking them neatly and taking care of other small jobs that were required of his new position. He went through the four house teams practice schedules, ensuring there was no overlapping and rechecked the dates of the matches. He had a jolt of disappointment when he realized that the first match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff was set for the same day as Ginny's match against Bulgaria. He had promised he would make it and now he had to tell her that he wouldn't be there. She would understand but would be disappointed. So was he. Harry would just have to cross-check the schedules and make it up to her at a different time.

Leaving the changing rooms, he stopped and watched the Ravenclaw team begin their practice. They showed dedication. It was barely dinner time by Harry's watch and they would undoubtedly be at it until late. Their captain, a tall sixth-year girl in a long blonde ponytail, waved him over and asked for some advice. Harry gladly gave it, praising them on what they were doing right and giving them pointers on how to tighten a few of their weak spots. He took their seeker aside, a lightweight fourth year with freckles, and showed him the Wronski Feint, thinking Ron would think it base treachery to be teaching any team but Gryffindor such tactics.

Leaving them to their practice, Harry walked up to the castle to have dinner with Headmaster McGonagall and Hagrid at the head table. He passed the greenhouses on the way in and stopped to greet a familiar face poking out of the top of a deep pot full of dragon dung. "Looking good, Neville," he said.

"Harry!" Neville Longbottom removed his head and dung-covered arms from the pot and grinned. "I didn't hear you coming."

"How's teaching?"

"Well, Professor Sprout is still showing me the basics, but she did let me plan a few lessons for the first years last week."

"Excellent."

"How 'bout you?"

"Teaching flying is easy compared to Snargaluff plants," Harry laughed.

"I meant at the Ministry? Luna tells me they've been working you really hard."

"Yeah, but I like it," Harry said honestly.

"You were always really good with Defense Against the Dark Arts." Neville stood awkwardly, hands full of dung. "Well…you had to be, I guess."

"You were too, Neville." They stood in silence a moment, the filtering sound of a fern purring in the background. "Going up for dinner?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Oh, yeah. In a bit, I just need to…clean up." Neville laughed, looking at his state of uncleanliness. "See you, Harry."

It was strange, sitting on the other side of the table, looking down on the house tables where he once sat conversing with his friends about Quidditch, reading the happenings in the Daily Prophet, and planning against Voldemort…

Harry looked down the table to his right where Professor McGonagall sat in the headmaster's seat, leaning in to listen to what Professor Slughorn was saying. He imagined Dumbledore standing in that place, addressing the students with a few favorite words before telling them to 'tuck in' and eat.

"A'right, 'arry?" Hagrid shouldered him on his left side, knocking over his goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Fine, Hagrid," Harry vanished the spill with his wand.

"I hope you 'ave time for a cuppa with me later, Fang would love ta see ya. 'Course, I understan' iffin ya don't, must be tired from teachin' and all yer Ministry trainin' an all."

"Of course I will," Harry assured him, admitting to himself that he was tempted to stay all night, not return to London at all. If he could've, he would have snuck into Gryffindor tower and fallen asleep on the common room couch before the fire. It was really nice to be home.


	4. Chapter 4

**R. J. Lupin**

The Ministry's magical weather system was showing a heavy, steady rain outside the windows in the Auror training room and the grey dismal light was making Harry drowsy. He flipped through a stack of files on the table and chose one that looked even slightly interesting. Ms. Dale had them filling out paper work on several active cases the Aurors had been working on for the past several months. Some were nearing completion, some in the early stages of investigation and still others were in remission for lack of new evidence.

Opening the file, Harry read the name and descriptive heading on a criminal wizard currently thought to be hiding out in Germany for casting a killing curse on another wizard. He had last been spotted on Muggle security cameras boarding a plane out of the country disguised as a muggle businessman. The file contained several written testimonies of sightings and reports from Aurors and members of the Magical Law Enforcement working closely with the case. Harry began reading through all the jumbled bits of parchment, filling out a form with the necessary details of the case. The form would then be logged with all the others under its proper heading: Case Pending.

Goldberg was at his table behind Harry studying his own stack of case files, scratching tirelessly with his quill. "Howard Billings," he murmured. Harry glanced over and noticed the confused expression on Goldberg's face.

"What?"

He looked up, shaking his head. "Nothing, it's just, I know that name."

In the past few weeks Harry had learned to tolerate being around the American, though Goldberg hadn't made it easy. It was obvious he disliked the renown of Harry's fame and ensured that Harry knew it. The two young men generally tried to ignore one another during training, so Harry found it odd that Goldberg had spoken aloud at all.

Goldberg read the case inscription, eyebrows furrowed. "He's an American," he stated finally. "Wanted in Britain for breaking the Statute of Secrecy, performing magic in front of a group of muggles while intoxicated."

"You know him?"

"I believe so, if he's the man I'm thinking of. A Howard Billings taught History of Magic at school back in New England. I could imagine him taking summer holidays here."

"Was he fond of firewiskey?" Harry asked blandly. Goldberg shot him a look.

"I wouldn't know," he returned to his work, disengaging the conversation and returning the room to silence.

"I think this is finally the last of them." Diana burst into the room carrying a large stack of files from the storage room down the hall. "At least I hope so, this is getting old." She dropped them on her table with a heavy sigh. "Take some you lot, I'm not getting stuck with all of these." Handing off several to each of them, Diana dispersed the pile into three and sat down to get back to work. "How is this even training? It's more like slave labor, they've just handed off all their paperwork on us 'cause we're trainees. It's not fair."

"You're saying when you're an Auror you won't shove you're paperwork off on new recruits?" Harry asked, re-dipping his quill in fresh ink and reaching for a new file.

"I hadn't planned on it," Diana returned the remark. "But I will now."

"How admirable," Devon spoke up from the rear.

"Don't start with me, Goldberg." Diana snapped. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

If Harry had liked the guy better he might have felt bad for him, Diana wasn't one to cross in one of her moods. But Harry really didn't care about Goldberg's feelings one way or the other. They finished their paperwork while Diana mumbled over the injustice of it all and, nearing the end of the day, Harry piled his neatly to be returned to the file closet. Leaving the other two, he headed down the hall through a door on his right to put them back in their proper cabinets. The room was tall and narrow with row after row of towering file drawers all the way to the ceiling. Floating globes of light moved about lighting the room and a ladder on wheels was halfway down the aisle to aid in accessing out-of-reach files.

Harry moved down the floor, stopping to drop in a folder here and there where they belonged, climbing the ladder to open one amongst the L's higher up. He found the right drawer and stuck Morris Lumar's record of criminal actions into its place between two others. About to close the drawer and move on, Harry stopped. Could it be here? he wondered. If there was a memory vial in the evidence room surely there was a file on the corresponding crime in the storage room.

Glancing down toward the open door, Harry ran a finger back through the files placed in alphabetical order. There it was, Remus J. Lupin's name in tiny black script running along the edge of a plain manila folder. Hesitating, unsure if what he was doing was even permitted, Harry snatched the folder and closed the drawer. He left the room and headed back down the hall, file tucked under his arm.

"One more?" Diana looked disgusted. "I thought I grabbed them all."

"Ah, yeah." Harry nodded, trying not to look obvious. "Just this last one," he gave her a significant look that she picked up on right away, glancing quickly at Goldberg who was in his own world.

"Well, I'll help you finish up. No need to stay, Goldberg, have a good night," she said this in a way to be taken that it was time for him to leave whether he was ready or not. He looked up from gathering his things and passed back an expression that implied he did not appreciate her commanding tone. Diana didn't back down, staring at him with arms crossed, leaning against her table until he had gone for the door and left them alone.

"What is it?" she whipped around once the door was closed.

"I took something," Harry said, laying the folder down. Giving her a quick explanation on his relationship with Lupin and of the memory he had found on their first day of training, he brought her up to date. "This is his," he tapped the file on the table waiting for her reaction.

"Well," she looked at him impatiently, having listened to his story intently. "Open it."

"It could get us kicked out."

"Why?"

Harry shrugged like it was obvious. " 'Cause I took it without asking."

"We've been taking files all day," she argued.

"Yeah, but we were supposed to take those."

"Harry, why did you take it in the first place if you weren't going to read it?"

It was a fair point and he looked at her a moment before flipping open the cover and sitting down to scan the contents, Diana close at his shoulder.

_Remus Lupin, age thirteen, is accused of the violent attacks on three people, wounding two and killing a young boy of seven at their home just outside of Hogsmeade. Lupin, a registered werewolf, was seen by no less than three witnesses fleeing from the scene into the surrounding forest, later to be found by Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School. Lupin is a student of Hogwarts, despite the Ministries disapproval and fear of other student's endangerment having him enrolled. A. Dumbledore ensured Ministry officials that Lupin was not a threat, having provided a protective environment for his monthly transformations. Ministry Law Enforcement agents at the scene say that this place of protection appeared to have been breached and did not hold R. Lupin during his transformation on the night in question. A hearing will be held in the presence of the Wizengamont to determine the facts and sentencing in said crime._

Harry looked up from the paper in disbelief. Lupin attacked three people? It was impossible; he had finished school with his dad and Sirius. He had even gone on to teach at Hogwarts as a werewolf, and the Ministry didn't seem the wiser of his condition at the time. It didn't make any sense.

Harry shifted through the pages of testimony from the trial declaring Lupin's guilt. There had been screams from the cottage where the attack took place, several neighbors arrived to investigate and claimed to have witnessed a werewolf running from the open door who they later identified as Lupin in full transformation. How? Harry thought once again. How were any of them able to capture and see Lupin as a werewolf without getting hurt themselves? And how did Dumbledore find him?

The last page was only half-marked, containing the closing statements of the prosecution and a few words from the head of the Wizengamont himself. It was incomplete and on the bottom of the page was one word in large stamped lettering: DISMISSED.

"Dismissed?" Diana looked confused. "But how—"

"The memory," Harry realized. Whatever Dumbledore had seen that night had been enough for the court to dismiss Lupin as a suspect. He wasn't sure how, but Dumbledore had pulled it off like he always had.

"Let's get it," Diana was all for running to the evidence room and snagging the memory as well.

"No," Harry stopped her, shoving all the papers back into the file and hurriedly closing it. "We definitely aren't supposed to do that."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Who's going to know? Don't you want to see what it says?"

"Yeah, but I don't want to get kicked out. And I don't want to be responsible if you did too."

"How noble, but we won't get kicked out because no one will ever know. Besides, there was definitely no rule in that fifty-foot contract that says we can't look at old evidence."

"Doesn't mean we should," he argued, getting his things together, ready to take the file back before he got caught with it. "Plus we don't have any way to view it, unless you have a pocket pensieve on you I don't know about."

"Funny," Diana wasn't amused. "We're in the Ministry, there's got to be one around here somewhere…"

"No," Harry stopped her. "I'm just going to put it back." Going for the door, he yanked it open and ran right into someone standing just outside. "Kingsley," Harry stopped in alarm, tucking the file out of sight behind his back. "I mean, sorry, Minister," he checked himself, glancing at Diana as she moved behind him and took the folder, putting it in her bag with a bemused smile.

"Harry," Minister Shacklebolt turned and gave him a warm familiar smile. "I've just been chatting with Ms. Dale," he nodded toward their instructor standing along the opposite wall. "She's told me your training is going well."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded uncomfortably.

"And this must be Miss Wescott," Kingsley turned to Diana and offered a hand.

She took it, beaming. "Pleased to meet you, Minister."

"I'm sorry it couldn't have been sooner, I've been anxious to come down and see how things are going with our Auror Department with all the recent changes in staff. Ms. Dale assures me that things look promising with our three new recruits training as hard as you have."

"Thank you, sir," Harry responded.

"Good day to you Miss Wescott, Ms. Dale," Kingsley nodded in departure.

"Harry, join me in the lift, will you?" he led the way down the hall and, with a parting glance at Diana, Harry followed. They took the empty lift up to the atrium, Harry relaxing a little while alone in the presence of his old friend, despite Kingsley's new status as Minister.

"I wish I could have come to see you sooner, Harry. Things have been—"

"Busy, yeah." Harry laughed. "I can imagine."

"You must join me for dinner in the Minister's office sometime soon."

"I would like that."

"We owe you that at least," Kingsley smiled down on him warmly as the lift doors clanged open to the noise of hundreds of Ministry employees heading home for the day.

Sitting on the couch in the flat later that evening, Harry regretted ever reading Lupin's record or even seeing the memory vial in the first place. What did it matter anyway? He obviously had been found innocent; which was of course the only thing that made sense to Harry having known Lupin as long as he had. There was still the question of how he had ever broken out of the Shrieking Shack in the first place. Dumbledore would have made certain that it would contain Lupin in even his worst transformations. And, Harry wondered vaguely, where were the others? His dad and Sirius would have never let Lupin run wild in Hogsmeade; unless they were the ones who let him out? Lupin and Sirius had confessed themselves they used to run all over the school grounds and the Forbidden forest together as transfigured Animagi. But Lupin had only been in his third year at the time of the crime, it wasn't likely James, Sirius, or Peter had even perfected their Animagi at that point.

These thoughts kept running through Harry's mind as he stared into nothing, distracted and only pretending to share interest in the late night talk show Ron was watching. The flat was dark but for the light from the television and a bare bulb above the sink in the kitchen. Neither one of them being very adept at cooking, they had settled on bowls of cold cereal for dinner which now sat empty and forgotten on the cluttered coffee table.

"What's the point?" Ron spoke up referring to the dancing rat terrier balancing a ball on its nose on the television screen. "Bloody ridiculous. What good is an animal that can do that?"

Harry didn't reply, not having heard what he said or even noticed the talented terrier at all. He hadn't told Ron or Hermione about seeing the case file. Ron would've just shrugged it off and voiced Harry's own thoughts that it didn't matter as long as Lupin was found innocent. Hermione would've chewed him out for putting his career in jeopardy for taking it in the first place. Shaking himself from his reverie, he glanced at his watch and notice how late it was.

"Probably should get to bed," he said out loud, more to himself than to Ron, who grunted but didn't move.

"Yeah, probably should turn this off," he indicated to the talk show. Neither one moved, watching the performing canine impress the audience with nine foot leaps through hoops before landing into its trainer's arms and barking with excitement. The show cut to a commercial and even then they showed no sign of getting up from the couch and heading to bed.

**Speculation**

"That's a good look for you, Potter." A tall witch with short blonde hair pointed her wand at him having taking Harry by surprise around a corner of the training obstacle maze.

"Damn," he muttered and lowered his own wand in surrender. "What gave me away?"

Diana smiled, taking her wand off of him and transfiguring her hair and features back to their original state. "You've got to work harder on disguising that scar, it's a dead give-away."

Harry moved a few paces away to check out his refection on a mirror on the wall. He had managed a passable job of making himself shorter by a few inches, changed his eye color from green to blue, and lightened his hair, but Diana was right, there was still a trace of a scar on his forehead. Frowning, he also returned himself to normal, turning as Ms. Dale walked up with Goldberg who still looked like a tall, robust man with an Uncle Vernon-like mustache.

"Well done, well done." Ms. Dale congratulated their efforts. "We'll keep working on transformations another day. Once you've righted yourselves let's return to the classroom. We have a guest speaker this afternoon." She bounced on the balls of her feet looking ready to pass them a treat. "Auror Thomas Michaels has just returned from a stint in South America tracking down a wanted witch and will be sharing with us some of his tactics in apprehending the villain." They turned to leave the practical training room, stowing their wands and following Ms. Dale into the hall.

"One of your eyes is still blue," Diana stopped Harry and brought out her wand again. "Hold still."

He blinked at she returned its color back to green, her hand on his arm to keep him from moving. "Thanks," he rubbed the eye, itching from the spell. Diana, still holding his arm, looked down the hall at the others getting ahead of them. Taking a closer step toward him, she spoke in a low tone.

"I read the rest of that file."

"Where is it?" Harry darted a glance at Ms. Dale as well.

"I left it at home."

"What?"

"Well, I wasn't going to go carrying it around was I? Listen, there was something in there I think you'd like to know. There was a written testimony from an old witch who claims she also saw a werewolf that night while out in her garden. But it wasn't your friend Lupin."

"How do you know?" Harry was listening. Ms. Dale had stopped and noticed they weren't keeping up, calling down the hall for them not to dawdle. They started walking, moving slow as Diana whispered close to Harry's ear.

"Because the werewolf she saw was full grown, had black fur, and was twice the size. She ran to the scene when she heard about the attack, and like the others, went into the forest to identify the werewolf. She said they weren't the same."

"But—"

"Shh," Diana cut him off as they reached the door where Goldberg stood holding it open. He looked down at them both with a pinched expression. "Problem, Goldberg?" she returned the look and lightly pushed Harry through the door ahead of her.

Mr. Michaels arrived a short time later and began his animated tale of criminal tracking in the jungles of Brazil. As interesting as it was, Harry couldn't concentrate. The more he tried to forget about Lupin the more he was brought into the mystery of it all. At the end of class he tried to hang back and get a moment to speak with Diana alone. He was disappointed however, as Mr. Michaels was eager to answer questions, and Ms. Dale and Goldberg had an endless supply to ask.

Raising her eyebrows, Diana exchanged a look with him before leaving the room and disappearing down the hall. Harry followed shortly after, resigned with having to wait until they had a moment to talk the next day. He headed for the lifts, mind overloaded with questions and doubts. He nearly called out in surprise as a hand reached and grabbed him, pulling him into a side room. Diana pushed him aside, closing the door of the empty office behind him.

"You couldn't have just called me in?" Harry asked.

"Shush," she dragged him further into the room, sitting on the edge of an empty desk amid a clutter of boxes. "I know what you're thinking, 'cause I thought the same thing," she picked up the conversation where they had left off. "So what if there was another werewolf, right? Three other witnesses saw Lupin run out of the cottage."

"Yeah."

"But what if he wasn't alone? What if the other werewolf was there, but ran off before anyone saw him? Maybe Lupin wasn't the attacker at all."

"Maybe, but he was there. Regardless of if he was alone or not, he still could have attacked one or all of those victims."

"Yeah, I thought of that too," Diana deflated a bit. "But they found him innocent somehow. There's just one piece that we're missing here…" she looked at him hopefully.

"No," Harry shook his head, backing away. "I told you I'm not going in there again, we don't have any way to look at the memory and if we get caught—"

"Oh, fine," Diana stood up in a disappointed huff. "I think you're wrong, but he was your friend." She put her hands up in resignation before resting them at her hips and looking at him thoughtfully. "We still haven't gotten a chance to get that drink."

"Oh, yeah, um…"

"Come on Harry, its Halloween," she pressed.

It was Halloween, Harry had nearly forgotten. "Alright," he assented. "But I have a better idea."

"Better than a drink?" she raised an eyebrow with a half-smile.

"Definitely."

* * *

Diagon Alley was lit up with street-side fires outside of every shop. There was an air of festivity which passed from each open door as witches and wizards of all ages moved about wishing one another a happy Halloween. Ollivander stood at his shop door casting charms of sparklers from the end of his wand while Luna stood nearby sending bubbles out of the tip of her own, transforming them mid-air into animals of different sizes. Free ice cream was passed around to all the children who ran about wearing masks and shrieking like ghosts and ghouls.

The air was brisk with the frost of autumn, and the merry shoppers warmed their hands over the hearty fires, cracking hot roasted chestnuts and passing them around for their neighbors to enjoy. George's shop was lit up like an enormous jack-o-lantern, doors wide open and swarming with excited children and their beaming parents. The owner himself stood at the entrance setting off Wizbangs into the clear starry sky over the tops of the shop roofs while Ron tossed out bags of sweets to every kid who ran up the stoop.

Harry stood by and watched with a smile, holding a warm mug of butterbeer and taking it all in. He thought Halloween was an event at Hogwarts, but he'd never experienced one in any other wizarding realm before. It was enjoyable to watch, though he remained off to the side having been greeted by enough eager passersby calling his name and raising good cheer. Diana stood beside him, leaning against the wall of Weasley Wizarding Weezes and watched the fireworks overhead.

"You were right," she said. "This is better."

"Cheers," Harry chinked his glass against hers with a smile. "Happy Halloween." They watched as a parade of levitating pumpkins moved down the street.

"Remember all of Hagrid's gigantic pumpkins?" Diana asked.

"Yeah," Harry smiled, also recalling how Hagrid got his pumpkins to grow so big.

"I miss Hogwarts sometimes," she continued. "I mean, I really like Auror training, and I'm excited to move further, but I miss it. I used to think that exams were rough and that school couldn't get over fast enough, but they seem like nothing now. And I miss all the time hanging out in the common room or on the grounds. I don't know what you Gryffindors like to do, but in Ravenclaw we would always go ice skating on the lake in the winter. We would set up races on the ice, things like that."

"We usually just had snowball fights." Harry said.

"I think I remember that," she turned and looked at him, the glow of fireworks reflecting in her eyes. "Gryffindors were always so much more competitive than Ravenclaws."

"You should've been in Gryffindor then."

She smiled. "We never could beat you at Quidditch."

"You did sometimes."

"Not often, you and Ginny made sure of that."

Harry looked away, eyes drifting unseeing to a crowd around a fire outside of Madame Mulkin's. Thinking of Ginny gave him a pang of guilt. He hadn't written in a while. To be fair, neither had she. He supposed they had both been busy. The last he had heard from her was when she sent him a letter telling him that her team had taken Bulgaria in their first match. He really regretted not being able to be there.

"You really miss her." It was a statement and Harry looked at Diana's blank expression a moment before nodding. "Yeah," she turned away, taking a sip of her butterbeer and returning her attention to the fireworks overhead.

"Hey," Hermione appeared around the corner, arms wrapped around her middle to ward off the cold. "Angelina says to come up for something to eat if you're hungry. She thinks George will keep this up all night, so we might as well not wait." She glanced up as an explosion of red erupted above them. "We can watch from the windows, they're really close up there."

Harry and Diana moved away from the wall and followed Hermione up the front stoop into the shop. Hermione passed Harry a look that he disregarded, leading Diana up the back stairs to George's flat. He didn't need a lecture. Did she not think he hadn't been thinking about Ginny all night? There were many things Harry missed about Halloween at Hogwarts, and number one was her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Quidditch and Recreation**

Ginny moved through the line for dinner, loading up her tray with coach approved foods that were supposed to help her stay fit and energized all season long. She was hungry, but what she really needed was a shower and several hours of sleep. Coach had them flying all afternoon in a heavy icy downpour in order to prepare the team for the next day's match against their tough Russian competitors. Her hair was still dripping, her practice robes sodden and sticking in irritating places, and she carried the unmistakable stench of training. She wasn't the only one; the entire dinner hall was full of exhausted players dripping puddles under their benches while they ate. The windows were foggy from the rising humidity of water evaporating off of the hems of robes and the warm breath of talking teammates. Finding a seat at a table, Ginny sat down beside a fellow Holyhead Harpie chaser, Kendra Underhill. They were soon joined by their seeker, Linnie Brent who sat down with a discouraged sigh.

"If it rains like this tomorrow I'm never going to be able to see the snitch."

"If it rains like this tomorrow I'm forfeiting now," Kendra agreed.

"Don't be dramatic you two." Ginny played with her salad. "We'll be fine."

"We will if Harding and Winston do their jobs, the Russian beaters are merciless. We don't stand a chance if they're constantly on us. I'm finally healed up from that bludger in the head from the last game, I don't need another concussion."

"Might help your aim though wouldn't it," Ginny suggested.

"Very funny, Weasley. We can't all be as good as you."

"Ginny!"

She looked up at the sound of her name being called from across the hall. "You've got a visitor." Glancing toward the double doors at the far side of the room, she searched for whoever might be looking for her.

"Is that…" Kendra got there first. "Is that Harry Potter?"

Ginny's heart leaped in her throat. She stood quickly, leaving the bench and her teammates and hurrying along the row of tables to reach him. "Harry!" Reaching him, she threw her arms around his neck not even caring that the entire room was watching. "Did you get here just now?"

"Pretty much," he smiled down at her, holding her at arms-length.

"I just got your owl this morning; I didn't expect you to get here 'til late."

"I got out of training this afternoon so I could manage."

"How did you get away with that?" she gave him a teasing smile.

Harry shrugged. "I know a guy at the Ministry."

"Harry!" Oliver Wood strode up between the tables, taking Harry's hand and pumping it mightily. "Good to see you."

"Oliver," Harry nodded. "Ginny told me you were still playing."

"Made starting keeper two years in a row," he beamed proudly.

"Come on, Harry," Ginny pulled at his arm. "Meet my team." She introduced him to Underhill and Brent; the Harpies beaters Harding and Winston; Thoreson, their third chaser; and their keeper, Maggie Sutherland.

"Here's a guy who could have gone professional." Wood popped into the conversation munching on a piece of toast and slapping Harry on the shoulder. "Captained him myself, youngest seeker in years. Best one too."

Ginny held back a laugh, exchanging a look with Harry. Taking a seat at the table, they talked Quidditch, Harry asking about the match against Bulgaria and the upcoming one against Russia. The Harpies latched on to the topic, berating both teams mercilessly. Leaving the dinner hall with the team, Ginny fell back, putting a hand in Harry's.

"Did you get checked in at the Inn?" she asked. Harry nodded. "I want to show you around, but not before I have had a shower and a change."

"There's a shower in my room," Harry suggested.

"Tempting, but no, Coach would kill me," Ginny laughed. "How about I meet you at your room in half an hour, then I'll give you a tour." Harry was hesitant to let her go, but released her hand and watched her walk away laughing and talking with her team.

The rain let up slightly in time for them to walk around the grounds arm in arm under an umbrella. Ginny showed Harry the practice fields, one for each Great Britain team, and the stadium where the actual matches were held. The training facility was set deep in a valley surrounded on all sides by tall mountains, hidden well from muggles much like Hogwarts. It was a community of its own with dormitories for the players, an Inn for visitors like Harry, shops to cater to the team's needs, and even its own owl post office.

"Do you miss it?" Ginny asked, looking out over the soggy Quidditch pitch drenched in rain. "Playing Quidditch?"

Harry shrugged. "Some, but I like helping out the teams at Hogwarts. Are you sick of it yet?" He made it sound like a lighthearted remark but was interested in her reply.

"Some days," she laughed. "But all the hard work is worth it. It's the best feeling to score a goal and win a game."

"Catching the snitch wins the game," Harry teased.

"And the chasers are worthless? Whatever, Big Shot Seeker, what do you know anyway? You've been in an office for the past few months playing it safe."

"Safe?" Harry scoffed. "Oh yes, training to chase down dark wizards is very safe." Like playing tag with Hagrid's little brother.

They moved out of the chill rain and returned to Harry's room at the inn where the staff of house elves had lit a warm fire and left a steaming kettle of tea on the table. Harry got comfortable on the floor before the hearth, leaning his back against the end of the bed and pulling Ginny down beside him. Resting her head on his shoulder she stared into the flames, completely content.

"I'm glad you came," she said. "Sorry you had to miss half a day at the Ministry."

"That's alright. I left my colleagues to fill out stacks of paperwork without me."

"How kind of you."

"Yeah, they weren't too pleased." Harry, smiling to himself, recalled Diana's perturbed expression she had given him on his way out the door. She would pay him back for it during a practical session he was sure. Ginny tried to stifle a yawn behind her hand. "You're tired. I should let you get some sleep."

"No," she shook her head, looking up at him. "I want to stay, just a little while longer."

"How much longer," Harry asked.

"Forever," she whispered as they kissed, holding each other tight, neither wanting to let go. The wind rattled the rain against the windows, the candles fluttering in their brackets on either side of the mantle. The room was warm and secure against the dismal weather outside. Harry moved to lie down on his side on the rug before the fire, resting his head in his hand and looking down on Ginny where she lay beside him. Brushing a strand of her hair from her face he leaned in and kissed her again, softly.

"I could fall asleep right here." She closed her eyes, relaxing.

"You can."

Smiling, she shook her head. "I can't, and you know it. I have a game tomorrow."

"That's tomorrow."

"Listen to you trying to get me to put you before Quidditch, what happened to your love of the game, Potter?" She opened her eyes with a teasing half smile, trying to prop herself up on her elbows.

"It's been replaced." He wouldn't let her go, putting an arm under her head and laying her back on the floor.

"I'll be home for the holidays you know."

"That's a long time to wait."

"Not that long."

Harry sighed, kissed her lightly again, but sat back and let her go. "You're right. We should call it a night so you can be ready for tomorrow. You have all those goals to score to win the game, right?"

"That's right." Ginny sat up and took his hand, her eyes glinting under the light of the fire. "I wish you were going to be out there with me, you're a much better seeker than Brent. She's such a whiner."

"So long as she catches the Snitch," Harry reasoned.

"Yeah well," Ginny snorted. "We'll see." They stood and Harry walked her to the door, helping her into her cloak. She put her arms around him in the space of the open door, kissing him one last time. "I'll find you for breakfast," she promised. "Then you can join me on the field and watch us warm up before the match. I'll get you a seat right up front."

Harry nodded. "I want to see you score twelve goals."

"I'll score fifteen," she smiled and Harry closed the door as she slipped away into the hall. He was far from sleep and had nothing to keep him occupied. Pouring another cup of tea, he sat in the high backed chair by the fire and watched the flames turn to glowing coals, the room falling into darkness as the candles sputtered and went out. His tea grew cold as he sat with his mind drifting to images and memories until his eyes began to droop.

Harry woke with a start with the sound of somone at the door. Glancing at the clock over the mantel, he read the time, adjusting his glasses and wondering who could be knocking at that hour. Maybe a house elf delivering fresh towels... "Ginny," he appeared surprise after opening the door to find her standing just outside, her hair damp from the rain. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she stepped into the room with her characteristic blazing look which always caused Harry's heart to race. "I just forgot to give you something."

Without giving him time to react, she closed the door behind her, turning and pushing Harry up against it and wrapping him in a passionate embrace. Harry eagerly met her kiss and responded to her exploring touch with gentle hands of his own. Removing her rain-soaked cloak, he let it fall to the floor before directing Ginny toward the bed. Her deft fingers undid the buttons on his shirt, easing it off his shoulders and tossing the garment away. Harry reluctantly let go as Ginny stepped away, and he watched in amazement as she sat on the edge of the bed with a coy smile before lifting her blouse over her head, a cascade of deep, red hair falling down her bare back. Reaching for his hand, she drew Harry in, laying back on the plush bedding and wrapping him in her arms. "I love you, Harry," she whispered in his ear as his lips gingerly grazed her neck.

Finding her lips, Harry kissed them softly, meeting her deep, brown eyes with his, flashing a bright green under the low light of the fire. "I love you too, Ginny."

* * *

Opening one eye, Harry squinted under the beam of sunlight filtering in through a break in the inn room's curtains. Reaching for his glasses on the bedside table, he slipped them on and rolled over. The sound of running water filtered from behind the closed door of the adjoining washroom and, while Harry contemplated getting up to join Ginny in the shower, it suddenly ceased. Moments later, she emerged wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping. Ginny caught his expression and flashed him a smile.

"Good morning," she walked to a nearby chair and picked up her discarded shirt.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Dressing."

"What's the point in that?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes in amusement. "The _point_ is that I have a game this morning, and I was suppose to have reported to the pitch like, ten minutes ago."

"Come here," Harry tried to distract her anyway, sitting up and reaching out a hand to stop her as she reached for her shoes under the bed. The sheet covering his waist shifted, but he didn't care anything for modestly at that moment, eager to delay Ginny in leaving just yet.

"No, no, no," Ginny pulled away with a laugh. "No more distractions, Potter. I _have _to go. Now! Coach is going to skin me alive." Picking up her cloak off the floor, she tossed it over her shoulders, stopping by the door long enough to give Harry an apologetic look of longing with her hand on the latch. "Get some breakfast, take your time. Then walk down and watch our pre-drills before the match."

Harry nodded without further objection, knowing the importance of staying on a coach's good side.

Ginny opened the door and prepared to slip out of the room. "Thank you," she passed him a mischievous Weasley grin, "for the wonderful evening."

* * *

Harry met up with Oliver Wood near the training facilities after breakfast, walking with him down to the stadium. Since Oliver's team, Puddlemere United, wasn't playing that day, he was free to roam and watch those who were. They took the open seats front and center of the pitch as the Holyhead Harpies stepped out of the dressing rooms and took to their brooms for their warm-ups.

"They're a good team, the Harpies," Oliver was saying, watching their keeper fly around the far goal hoops. "They just struggle with the fundamentals, make a lot of mistakes when it counts. Ginny though, she keeps them all in line; could make captain one of these years if she keeps it up."

_Captain,_ Harry thought about this. Ginny captain one of these years. How many years? How long would they have to be apart? Harry had begun to get used to the idea, back in London anyway. But right then, after the evening they had spent together, he longed for the day when they didn't have to. He was sure she felt the same. But it was Quidditch, her dream of playing for an International team. He couldn't blame her for wanting to be there.

Harry watched as she flew skillfully in and out of her teammates, smiling broadly and joking around with the Chuddly Cannon's keeper, Sean Roen. Messing around and showing off, Roen's presence on the pitch served only to distract the all-women Quidditch team attempting to prepare for their match. He was a lousy flyer. Harry wondered how he'd ever made it past the reserves. Give Harry his Firebolt and he'd out-stripe the wanker by a mile any day. He probably couldn't catch a snitch if it hit him in the face either.

"That Roen is a fair bloke," Oliver interrupted his thoughts much to Harry's annoyance. "Never misses a save that one. Not like poor Sutherland there," he nodded toward the goal rings with a wince as the Harpies' keeper missed another save. "Too bad, really. Let's just hope Ginny and Underhill can keep up."

Despite their keeper's short-comings, The Holyheads took the game against Russia with a surprising finish, out-scoring them one-hundred and seventy to one-hundred and sixty. Russia managed to catch the snitch but not before Ginny scored her fifteenth goal as promised. Afterwards, she and Harry celebrated by ordering room service and spending the night indoors beside the fire.

**Bachelorhood**

There was brisk knock and a bang on the door of the flat as it flew open and Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan barged in with arms weighted down with cases of beer and paper bags full of greasy take-out. "Game started yet, Ron?" Dean called out, setting his load down on the couch. "Hi-ya, Harry. You've got the right channel?"

"Hold on," Ron fiddled with the dial waving him away. "Give it a bit, I got it."

"The pub up the street is packed," Seamus beamed, plopping down in the recliner and twisting off the top of a beer. "Crazy Westham fans."

"Seamus nearly got himself killed yelling 'Go Ireland!' as we passed." Dean shook his head humorously. "We had to apparate just outside your doorstep or all those nutter fans would've run after him."

"I thought you didn't follow football," Harry looked at Seamus.

"I don't," he grinned. "I'm a proud Irishman, though aren't I?"

"There," Ron moved away from the television as a woman announcer appeared on the screen and began talking about the match about to begin. "Not much of a challenge though is it, football? Scoring goals while safe on the ground into only one large net."

"I'd like to see you try it." Dean challenged.

"Still, it doesn't beat Quidditch."

"Cheers," Seamus raised his bottle.

"Gryffindor!" The other three followed suit, digging into the bags of food and watching the game begin through muffled cheers in the stadium on the screen. Dean spent most of the first half explaining all the rules to Ron. He could only look from Dean to the screen like he was insane, although he couldn't help join in the yelling and excitement when one of the Westham players was given a yellow card for unnecessary roughness.

During a break in the game Seamus regaled them all with a story of his and Dean's night out at a muggle club the weekend before. "These two girls were blown away with Dean's trick of emptying and refilling his glass just by looking at it. They thought he was some amazing mind control freak or something."

"All I did was have my wand under the table," Dean grinned while Seamus busted out laughing.

"You should have seen their faces. Got their attention though, and made for a great night."

"You lot could've been in trouble for doing magic in front of muggles," Ron admonished.

"Thanks, _Hermione_," Dean scoffed. "They never saw how I did it."

"Speaking of Hermione," Seamus raised his eyebrows at Ron humorously. "Have you two…you know…"

"None of your damn business," Ron threw an empty take-out carton at him.

"Nosey little wanker," Harry laughed.

"You think so, Potter?" Seamus turned on him. "You've been awfully quiet over there, been thinking about your last visit with Ginny?"

"Bloody hell, would you shut up?" Ron leaned over and knocked him one in the head.

"Would all you lot shut up," Dean called out irritably. "The game's back on."

Harry sipped from his bottle and glanced down the sofa at him, almost having forgotten that Ginny had once been Dean's girlfriend too. He probably wanted to hear about Harry's time with her about just as much as Ron.

"How do you know when the game's finished if there isn't a snitch?" Ron returned his attention to the screen.

"When the time's up, moron."


	6. Chapter 6

**Christmas Snow**

Two days before Christmas Ms. Dale took her three recruits and put them up against second- and third-year trainees to test their skills in face-to-face dueling. Word spread around the office and, by the time they met on the practical training room floor, a crowd had gathered. Things were lax in the Ministry anyway, with the holiday looming, so no one felt guilty about sneaking away for a peek at what Potter was capable of.

The exercise would have been intense even without an audience, but with everyone watching they all felt the pressure to perform well. The more experienced duelers of the second- and third-years were all eager to outperform one another and be the first to jinx the famous Harry Potter. He was quite aware of their intentions on taking him down and was just as determined not to let it happen.

The training floor was set up with several obstacles of different sizes in which to make it all the more difficult for their opponents to attack them. Harry, Diana, and Devon took their positions, peering cautiously out from behind a few of these to try and catch a glimpse at where they might be taken by surprise.

At the sound of Ms. Dale's whistle they raised their wands and moved out from cover. The second Harry stepped out into the open he was the target of three stunning spells from several directions. He blocked two with a flick of his wand and dove behind a barrier as the third flew past his shoulder. They were relentless, casting spell after spell at the three rookies without letting up.

"Merciless, aren't they?" Diana brushed her hair from her eyes, meeting Harry behind a brick barricade. He nodded, catching his breath. Glancing over the top of the wall, he did a quick scan of the room. "Got a plan?" she asked.

"Maybe," he glanced up to the catwalk overhead, lined with observers leaning against the rail and watching the action. "Can you make a diversion?"

"Just tell me when."

"Alright, go." They ducked out from behind the wall, one on each side, spells and hexes flying at them in every direction. Diana cast a ream of water like a wave from the tip of her wand, sending it crashing into several waiting opponents on the other side. Harry caught a glimpse of Goldberg as he shot a spell over the top of plinth. Turning on the spot, Harry disapparated, disappearing into thin air just as he was about to be hit by half a dozen jets of red light. The crowd exclaimed in approval, clapping and looking about the room to catch where he would reappear. The second- and third-year trainees did the same, raising their wands and searching in every direction.

A large bloke in the front fell with a hard thud on the floor, hit with a stunning spell from above. All eyes turned and noticed Harry for the first time, standing behind the crowd at the end of the cat-walk. He sent four trainees to the floor before they could react with counter-spells. Diana and Goldberg dodged in from behind and struck down two more. The crowd cheered, stepping back as Harry disapparated once again, reappearing on the floor beside Diana.

"Nice one!" she called out, blocking an oncoming hex.

"Same to you, Wescott, excellent diversion," he grinned.

Exhausted and exhilarated, the rookies shook hands with their opponents, jeering at one another in good-humor. The crowd dispersed and they were left alone to clean up the training room floor. Harry, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, wiped sweat from his brow.

"Here," Diana threw him a towel from the rack by the shower room doors.

"Thanks," he caught it, using it to wipe his face. "That was brilliant."

"You were brilliant. The amazing Mr. Potter strikes again."

Harry waved her off, unable to hide a smile. It had been their most challenging, but by far the most enjoyable day of training they had experienced. Harry had actually felt like a real Auror and not just a rookie in training.

"Well," Diana pocketed her wand and picked up her cloak. "Work's over, enjoy your holiday, Potter."

"Have any big plans?" He grabbed his own cloak from the hook on the wall and followed her to the door.

"Not really, just going home to see family. You?"

"The same," he nodded. "Well, Ginny's family."

"Right, well, Merry Christmas, Harry." She touched him warmly on the arm with a soft smile and walked ahead of him down the hall towards the lifts. Harry stopped in the classroom to retrieve his bag, packed for the few days stay at the Weasley's. Mr. Weasley and Hermione were waiting for him in the atrium when he arrived and they all apparated together, landing in front of the Burrow.

"Welcome home you two," Arthur smiled warmly. "When should we expect Ron?" he asked Hermione as they walked across the lawn to the kitchen door.

"Not until late," she replied. "George expected things would be busy at the store with last minute Christmas shoppers."

"Too true," Arthur nodded. "Molly, I'm home and I've brought visitors!"

They stepped out of the cold into the warm welcoming kitchen and Harry looked up to see Ginny turn from the sideboard, hands covered in flour. She smiled and moved to greet him, giving him a hug around the neck and covering him in it. "Sorry," she laughed. "Guess I should've washed first." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not the only one. Stressful day, dear?"

"Oh," Harry grinned, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "A bit challenging, yeah."

"I suggest a shower," she left a hand print of flour on his cheek, patting it and turning back to the baking she and Mrs. Weasley had been working on. Molly finished giving Hermione a hug and turned to him.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," she beamed, brushing away the flour and pulling him in for a tight squeeze. "Make yourself at home, take your things upstairs. Dinner will be on the table in an hour. I hope George doesn't keep Ron working all night."

"They said they'd be late, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione repeated, "but didn't say how long."

"Never much dedication with their school work, but a joke shop, for that they work over-time." Molly shook her head, pulling out her wand and attacking the pile of soiled dishes in the sink.

Harry took the stairs and dropped his bag in Ron's room, showering quickly and pulling on fresh clothes. The Burrow had an air of festive spirit so familiar to its jumble of rooms and homey furnishings. Mr. Weasley had set up the tree in the sitting room, and Ginny had spent the first afternoon of her break decorating the house from top to bottom. Mrs. Weasley had been baking and cooking every delicious treat imaginable. There was a roaring fire in the hearth and dozens of candles burning, giving the cozy space a warm peaceful glow. Christmas carols filtered from the wireless and a soft snow fell on the window sills as night fell.

Harry returned to the bustling kitchen feeling refreshed and comfortable, sitting down at the table and snitching a freshly baked cookie still warm from the oven. Hermione had joined in the preparations for the evening meal and Mr. Weasley had ducked outside to bring in another load of firewood. He returned in a gust of strong wind and a flurry of snow, persuading the stack of cut logs to move ahead of him with his wand.

"Need any help, Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked.

"No, no I've got it," he assured him, disappearing into the sitting room followed by the sound of wood thumping on the rug and several logs rolling across the floor.

"Alright, Arthur?"

"Fine, Molly, fine!"

"Harry, be a dear and cut these carrots, would you?" Mrs. Weasley brought around a cutting board and knife. "Bill, Fleur and the baby will be arriving tomorrow," she announced, though no one had asked. "Let's hope the weather doesn't keep them," she peered out into the swirling white, pulling back the curtains with a frown.

"They'll make it, Mum." Ginny assured her, sitting down beside Harry and rolling out more cookie dough.

"It's really coming down," Hermione followed Mrs. Weasley's gaze with a furrowed brow, betraying her own worry.

Ginny looked up and caught the look. "A little snow won't stop George and Ron making it home for Mom's roast chicken."

Hermione broke away from her thoughts and nodded with a forced smile, turning back to her task of frosting wreath shaped sugar cookies.

After dinner was over, Hermione offered to help wash up. Elbows deep in dishwater suds, she continuously checked Mrs. Weasley's magic clock for any change in Ron's status of 'at work.' Harry and Ginny moved to the sofa in front of the fire, sitting with fingers entwined, listening to the storm blow against the side of the house, fluttering in the chimney grate.

"I can't even remember having this much snow on Christmas before," Ginny rested her head on Harry's shoulder. "It's kind of cozy, getting snowed in."

"I feel bad for Hermione though," Harry glanced into the kitchen.

"For Hermione? Feel bad for all of us if Bill doesn't make it tomorrow. Mum'll throw a fit if the baby isn't here for Christmas—" she was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley's exclamation from the kitchen that George and Ron were on their way, the clock hands having moved to indicate they were traveling. Moments later the door flew open and they stepped in through the burst of blowing white, shaking snow from their cloaks and uncovered heads.

"White Christmas indeed," George grumbled. "Worst storm in a century and still the shop was packed with last minute shoppers up until…well, the last minute. Bunch of bloody fiends…sorry we're late, Mum." He bent and gave her a one-armed hug. "Would've been here sooner, but Ron had to make a stop." He rolled his eyes as Ron pulled a squirming bundle of blankets out from his cloak.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione squealed, grabbing for the over-excited cat as he spilled from Ron's arms. "Oh, Ron, you didn't!"

"Well," Ron shrugged modestly as she hugged him fiercely, kissing him on the cheek. "Couldn't spend Christmas alone, could he? Damn near scratched my head off trying to bring him along," he said in undertones as she carried Crookshanks into the sitting room.

"I saved you some dinner." Mrs. Weasley ushered them to the table as Mr. Weasley walked downstairs and greeted his sons.

"You made it through the storm."

"Barely," George eagerly took the warmed up plate of food from his mother. "It's really coming down out there, Dad. Diagon Alley was already under three feet of snow. Still not enough to keep the mongrels away from the Ton Tongue Toffees though was it?"

They drank warm mugs of cider in front of the fire until late, and still the snow fell and blew. Mr. Weasley fell asleep in his armchair while his wife knitted a sweater for the baby. George and Ron played a game of chess with Hermione curled in a chair nearby, Crookshanks in her lap. Harry and Ginny kept their place on the sofa, growing drowsy in the low burning candle-light.

"They've been wearing you out at that Ministry," Ginny spoke low in his ear. Harry opened his eyes, unaware that he'd been drifting off to sleep.

"What about you?"

"It's nice to have a break," she agreed, yawning.

"You could sleep you know, go up to bed."

Ginny shook her head. "I'm too comfortable." She encircled his waist in her arms, snuggling in close.

"Well, I am going." Mrs. Weasley stood, stretching and putting aside her knitting. "Arthur," she kicked him awake and instructed him to follow.

"I'm off too, chaps," George left the game, Ron nearly having him beat. "Sleep well all."

"I'm rather tired myself." Hermione dropped Crookshanks from her lap and stood. "Ron?"

"Ah," he looked ready to object before catching the look she gave him. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm exhausted. Night Harry," he followed Hermione up the stairs leaving the two of them alone in the sitting room as the fire began to die.

"I think we've been ditched." Ginny smiled, sitting and facing Harry in the dark.

"I don't mind." Harry pulled her onto his lap.

"We should probably get to bed ourselves," she kissed him lightly, brushing the unruly hair from his forehead, touching the tip of her finger to his scar. It wasn't really what Harry was thinking, but if that's what she wanted.

"I suppose…"

"Come on." She rose from the sofa, pulling him up by the hand and leading him up the stairs. She stopped at her bedroom door, putting her hand on the knob. Harry squeezed her free hand and let go, prepared to say goodnight. "Where are you going?" she held on.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Isn't Hermione in there?" he pointed into the darkened room beyond the half open door.

"Don't be dense, Harry," she pulled him in after her. "She's upstairs with Ron."

"But…what about your Mum?"

"Well, I can't be sure, but I think she's sleeping in her own room," Ginny teased, closing the door behind them and waving her wand to ignite a lamp on the dresser.

"I meant, won't she—"

"Go ballistic? Probably," Ginny pulled back the quilt on the neatly made bed. "But she's a grandmother now, she doesn't notice anything."

A little hesitant, Harry glanced at the door a moment before turning back to Ginny, willing to go with it if she was. She was sitting on the bed, kicking off her slippers with an enticing smile. "Well, Potter, are you going to put that light out or not?" Harry didn't even bother taking out his wand, blowing out the lantern himself and quickly joining her on the bed. Ginny giggled uncontrollably as he rolled her over and pulled the quilt over them both.

"Your hands are cold," she tried to suppress her laughter.

"Sorry. Bloody hell, what did you seal these shut with?" He fumbled with the button on her jeans.

"Shut up," she doubled over, ticklish to Harry's touch. "You'll wake my Mum."

"I thought you weren't worried? What am I doing wrong here? Alohamora… where's my wand?"

"Don't you dare!" she slapped his hand away. "Just…let me do it."

"It's like a chastity belt."

"Shush," she snuggled deeper under the blankets, shutting him up with a kiss. "Be good or I'll kick you out of my bed."

"You lured me in," Harry argued, moving down her neck, kissing the soft open skin at her neck and moving to unbutton her shirt, following with his lips.

"That tickles," she squirmed, but put her fingers through his hair, not wanting him to stop. Removing her shirt, Harry tossed it out from under the blanket where it hit something on the bedside table in the dark, knocking it to the floor with a thud.

"Whoops." Harry tried not too laugh.

"Nice." Ginny drew him up beside her, pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it over the side of the bed. "See, gently, _quietly_," she whispered, teasing.

"Yeah, got that."

"Shh," she put a finger to his lips, freezing. There was a noise on the stairs outside the door. They lay quiet, listening. "Probably just Crookshanks."

"Or the wind," Harry suggested as the windows rattled in the fury of the storm. Fumbling for his wand, he pointed it at the door. "Muffliato."

"Useful," Ginny approved. "You could have done that, like, ten minutes ago."

"You think so?" Harry rolled over on the bed, taking her with him, causing her to squeal.

"Not so tired anymore, Potter?"

"Wide awake actually. Not tired in the least."

Ginny brushed her lips against his ear with an teasing smile. "I can take care of that."

* * *

The Burrow woke to a winter wonderland on Christmas Eve, the kitchen windows half buried in heavy snow. The sun peeked out and cast a radiant glow against the blinding white. The garden was a mound of hilly snow banks, bushes and dead brush completely covered in the fresh powder. Mrs. Weasley cooked an enormous breakfast, filling the house with the tempting aroma of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee.

Sneaking quietly out of Ginny's room, Harry dashed upstairs for a change of clothes, meeting Hermione on the stairs. "Morning," he held back a smile.

"Morning, Harry," she blushed, brushing past him, disappearing into the open door of the bathroom.

"Are you up, mate?" Harry called through the door of Ron's bedroom before entering, stepping through when he received the affirming reply. Ron was up, fully dressed but for the sock he was pulling on. "Sleep well?"

"Wonderfully," Ron grinned, standing and going to stand before the mirror, attempting to have a go at his hair. "You?"

"Like a baby."

"Don't remind me," Ron groaned. "That little drooling midget's coming today. Mum will be a nightmare."

"Just wait 'till it's your kid."

"Don't even go there."

Bill and Fleur arrived on schedule and the Burrow was snug and warm for the arrival of Christmas. Percy arrived the day of and joined the crowded table for a feast of Christmas ham and turkey, yams, and potatoes. They ate until they were stuffed and there was still enough to feed five more. Late in the afternoon, the snow began to fall once again, prepared to spread another thick blanket over the first.

"We all could be shut in tonight." Bill nodded toward the sitting room window, dark with the snow bank piled up against it.

"That would be lovely!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, bringing around a tray of baked treats and thrusting them on everyone already full from dinner.

" 'Ere Harry, you must 'old zee babee," Fleur thrust the wriggling, wide eyed infant into his arms. "She will love you, no? Look 'ow she smilez!"

It didn't look like a smile to Harry, who held her at arms-length, not quite sure what to do with her. He glanced at Ginny for help but she merely laughed and shook her head to indicate he was on his own. Harry awkwardly set the child on his knee, trying hard not to drop her. Victoire was her mother in every way, except for the strawberry coloring in her hair that was Bill's. Harry couldn't tell whether or not she was cute, he really didn't know about such things.

Mrs. Weasley soon stepped in and relieved him of the nerve-racking bundle of joy, and Harry moved into the kitchen in search of something warm to drink. Ginny found him there and poured him a steaming cup of tea, reaching down a cup from the cupboard for herself. "I'm not so sure Muffliato is going to work with all these extra people here tonight," her eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Worth a shot though, isn't it?" Harry returned with a challenge.

Ginny moved near, cradling her steaming cup in both hands, assenting with a smile. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Merry Christmas." Leaning in he received her waiting lips with a lingering kiss.

If there was a spell to freeze time in it's perfect state, Harry would have used it. With his arm around Ginny, he pulled her close and breathed in her fresh familiar scent of sweet flowers. He didn't want to spoil the moment by thinking of the inevitable, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed that their time together was so short. It was getting harder and harder to stay apart for so long. Something was going to have to change, and soon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Heirlooms**

"I've been meaning to show you this since you arrived, Harry," Mr. Weasley pulled back the door to his storage shed with some difficulty in the hard packed snow. "But time just got away from me. Here we are!" He stepped inside the dark, cold interior and maneuvered around teetering boxes and shelves full of muggle artifacts, Harry following behind. In the center of the cluttered floor, Arthur pulled a large canvas cover off of a reconstructed motor bike. "Recognize it?" he beamed. Harry did indeed, from the add-on buttons on the instrument panel to the side-along car.

"Sirius' bike."

"Right you are, Harry. I've been fixing all the glitches since, well…since last time. And now it's yours." Harry looked from the bike to Mr. Weasley. "Everything your godfather owned went to you, and this is no exception," he smiled, bouncing on the heels of his feet pleasantly. Harry didn't know what to say, moving forward and touching the rough leather seat, the sight of the bike evoking many memories he hadn't thought of in a long time. "I would be glad to keep it as long as you need a place to store it," Mr. Weasley continued. "I just wanted you to know that it was here for you."

"Mr. Weasley," Harry stopped him as Arthur began to walk back toward the door.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Can I…I have a question that I've been wanting to ask you."

Mr. Weasley smiled, clasping his hands behind his back. "I had a feeling this was coming."

"You did?"

"Of course," he returned a few steps, standing in front of Harry and putting a hand on each of his shoulders. "Nothing would make Molly and me happier than if you were to ask for Ginny's hand."

Harry smiled in relief.

"Although, I feel obligated to warn you," Arthur leaned in with a teasing expression. "She is very much like her mother, and these Weasley women are accustomed to getting their way."

Harry laughed. "Yes, sir, I'll keep that in mind."

"You're a good man, Harry. I've always seen you as a son since Ron first brought you home in my flying car. You definitely have my blessing." With another smile and warm pat on the shoulders, Arthur released him to return to the warmth of the house.

Harry did feel relieved, but also very nervous. He hoped that he wasn't jumping the gun on this, but it was the perfect solution. He missed Ginny every moment they were apart. He couldn't imagine a future without her, so why not get married? What was the point in waiting any longer for the inevitable? The more he thought about it the more excited Harry got. Plans for the perfect way to ask her began to formulate, and Harry had to maintain a straight face around Ginny for the rest of the night so as not to give the surprise away.

* * *

Ginny spent the rest of her holiday in London with plans to do some necessary shopping before returning to training camp. The day before New Year's Eve, Harry went with her to Diagon alley, leaving her to take care of her list of Quidditch supplies and going on his own to Gringotts. He had a large withdrawal to make and needed to be quick. When his bag was heavy with gold, Harry headed back up the street, careful not to run into Ginny along the way. There was a certain shop he had visited once before on his own, and it was time to drop back in and make a purchase. But first, he stopped in at Weasley Wizarding Weezes and found Ron behind the counter with Hermione who was putting in a few hours at the shop to help George out over the busy shopping season.

"Ron," Harry walked up to the till, casting a quick glance at Hermione. "Can you take a break for a few minutes?"

"What's up?" He glanced up from sorting boxes of Nosebleed Nougat.

"I need you to ah…I need your opinion on a new broom."

"You're getting a new broom?" Ron got excited.

"Thinking about it. Can you come?"

"Yeah," he looked around the busy shop floor, searching for George. "Ah, Hermione, cover for me for a bit would ya?" She looked ready to object, but he was already around the counter and heading for the door behind Harry. "That's a sport, be back in sec. What were you thinking, another Firebolt?" he asked as they headed out into the street. "They have a new model out now, with loads of upgrades—"

"No, actually, I lied," Harry stated, checking over his shoulder for any sign of Ginny. She was nowhere in sight, still busy shopping. "I'm not getting a broom." Ron looked confused and slightly disappointed. "I need your opinion, but not about that."

"Than what?" Ron looked about at the direction they were going, stopping short in front of the rare and custom jewelry shop at the end of the street in which Harry was headed. "Whoa, are you serious?"

Harry stopped with his hand on the door. "Yeah, come on, we don't have much time."

"Harry," Ron moved forward but with a hesitant expression. "Are you sure about this, I mean…it's Ginny."

"Yeah."

"It's marriage."

"Yeah, that's kind of the point. I just want you to tell me what you think of the ring before I buy it."

"I really don't think that I—"

"Of course you can, you're my best mate. I want your opinion. Here," he pulled Ron before one of the many glass cases lined with glittering silver, gold, and diamond jewelry. "That one, at the back," Harry thought it was perfect, just right for Ginny who wasn't one of those kinds of girls who went crazy over huge glitzy stones. The store owner had said it was an antique, goblin made and bought from an estate owned by a very rich and classy witch. The band was silver and wound like a delicate vine around the finger ending in a simply carved flower fitted with a single glittering diamond. "Well?"

"I dunno, Harry," Ron shrugged looking mystified at the thought of anything surrounding weddings and matrimony. "It's very Ginny, I guess."

"That's what I thought."

"Are you getting it then?" he asked and Harry nodded, eyes on the ring. "And you're really going to ask her?"

"Yeah."

Ron sighed as though accepting the inevitable. "It's your funeral."

Harry gave him a look of disgust. "She's your sister."

"Precisely my point, you have no idea what you're getting into. Granted, that does mean we'll be brother's, doesn't it."

"That's generally how it works, yeah."

Ron shrugged, thinking about it in this new light. "Yeah, I guess I'm okay with that."

Harry paid for his purchase, waiting while the shop keeper wrapped the ring neatly in a box. "You know they have a large quantity here—"

"Shut up," Ron stopped him. "And I'll thank you kindly in advance," he added sarcastically as they headed back out into the street. "You do realize the hounding I'm going to get once you give her that. Once one has one, they've all got to have one. I'll never get a moments peace."

* * *

On the night of New Year's Eve the flat was packed to overflowing. George and Angelina were there, as well as Luna, Dean, Seamus, Neville, and a few of the other residents of the building whom they had gotten to know since moving in. Dean and Seamus took over the sitting room impressing the girls from 2B with their 'magic tricks'. The music was loud and the conversation lively. Despite the cool air, all the windows were open and sounds of merriment drifted up from the street where celebrators had taken their festive moods outdoors.

Harry popped open a bottle of champagne and sent the cork flying across the kitchen. Hermione squealed and jumped out of the way as foam and bubbles cascaded out the bottle rim. Ron handed him a glass and Harry filled it up before passing it on. "How much time do we have?"

" 'Bout six, seven minutes." Ron looked at the clock on the stove. Harry poured out two more glasses and went in search of Ginny where she sat on the sofa talking to Luna.

"Have a moment?" he leaned over and spoke in her ear. She smiled up at him and nodded, excusing herself. Grabbing an old quilt from the back of the couch, Harry led her out into the hall toward the rear of the building. He handed her a glass of the champagne and pulled open a heavy unlocked door which led up to the roof. They climbed to the top, stepping out into the cold open air. The roof was lit up with the lights of the apartment building next door. The sound of singing and laughing floated up from the street.

Harry took Ginny's hand and walked over to the edge, peering down at the partiers preparing to chime in the New Year. Setting their glasses on the snowy ledge, Harry wrapped his arms around her from behind, draping the blanket around them both to keep her warm.

"It's beautiful up here," Ginny sighed, leaning in to him. "Why haven't we been up here before?"

"I have, a few times. It's the best at night with all the lights, like now."

"London is stunning at night. That's when it's worth living in the city."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "But I'd take Hogsmeade any day; the quiet and the stillness with Hogwarts in the distance."

"You don't want to live in the city?"

"Not always," Harry admitted. It was fine for that moment, but the only places he'd ever felt really at home was at Hogwarts or the Burrow, both far from the confines of London. "But right now, just like this, I could stay right where we are."

"How long?" Ginny turned her head to look at him, her lips gently touching his cheek.

"Forever." Harry put her hand in his, slipping a ring on her finger. Ginny pulled it out from under the blanket looking at it in surprise. The diamond glinted off the lights of the city and she turned to him in stunned silence. "Will you marry me, Ginny?" Harry looked at her hopefully. She touched the delicate ring in disbelief and when she raised her face her eyes reflected in the light, wet with tears. She hugged him tightly around the neck, knocking the blanket to the ground.

"Yes," she whispered in his ear. "Yes, yes, yes." They laughed softly, Harry gently wiping away a tear from her cheek. Pulling her in for a kiss he held her tightly as the clock struck midnight amid cheers and celebration on the street below.


	8. Chapter 8

**Revealing Memories**

Stirring the bubbling liquid in the cauldron, Harry checked the consistency and was satisfied Ms. Dale would find it acceptable. Re-reading the list of ingredients, he made a note on the parchment to remind him what steps he had already taken. If Severus Snape taught him anything it was to read the instructions carefully to avoid shoddy potion making. Marking the time on the log sheet, he left it to brew until Dale returned to check his progress. Shutting the door to the potions lab, Harry returned to the Auror training room, back to his table which was cluttered with paperwork he had yet to finish that afternoon. Ms. Dale had assigned over three hundred pages of exhausting reading on procedures and technique and Harry had barely begun. Every time he got to it he would get called away to assist one of his superiors, tracking down missing files, logging evidence, or recording testimony. He wasn't complaining, he enjoyed the more hands on training much more than the endless pages of reading.

He sat down and picked up a few pages as Goldberg entered the room from the hall looking harried. "Ludicrous," he muttered, dropping several rolls of parchment in his attempt to deposit them onto his table. "Demeaning, ridiculous demands…"

Harry looked up from his reading. "What?"

"Nothing," Goldberg snapped, slamming down the rest of his armload, yanking out his chair and sitting in a huff. "Make the dumb American run around doing all their menial tasks. Sure, I have plenty of time to get their damn tea," he grumbled with bitter sarcasm.

"They've got us all running, that's part of the job." Harry returned to his work.

"Job? What job? We're not even training. This is slave labor, not career building."

"Yeah, well—" Harry didn't feel like arguing. The door flew open and Diana barged in, her hair flying, looking like she hadn't had a moments rest all day. "Where've you been?"

"Where haven't I been?" she sighed, pulling up a chair, not to her own table, but beside Harry. "I just came from the Evidence room," she looked at him significantly. "Auror Wellington had me logging courtroom memories from the Plashki case." She pulled something from her pocket and handed it to Harry with a mischievous smile. Darting a glance at Goldberg, Harry looked at her in surprise, taking the small class vial reluctantly.

"What are you doing?" he leaned forward and whispered harshly.

"Giving you a chance to see it. Come on," she stopped him from objecting. "It will take two seconds; we'll have it back where it belongs in no time. No one will even know it's gone."

"You forgotten we don't have any way to view it," he argued, lowering his voice with another quick look at Goldberg who seemed consumed with his towering pile of parchment. Diana merely smiled, taking the memory back from him.

"We do now," she stood suddenly, grabbing his arm. "Come on, before Ms. Dale gets back." Giving him no chance to deny her request, Diana pulled him from the room and down the hall. Harry attempted to object but found himself far more interested in finally getting the opportunity to view the memory. He had almost forgotten about the whole mystery with the distractions of the holidays and proposing to Ginny. Glancing over his shoulder, he followed Diana's lead down a side hall, deserted and narrow with only a few widely spaced closed doors leading off of it.

"I found it the other day while logging for Emmet." She explained, stopping short at a door halfway down the hall and pulling out her wand. With a tap on the door handle the lock was released and they stepped inside. "He came in here for a vial of Veritiserum, but I noticed something else." The room was small and lined with wood cabinets full of bottles of potions, some glowing with an iridescent sheen through their bottles and the glass door fronts. "Over here," she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the far corner where a cabinet shone with the cool shimmering light from a basin locked inside. Diana unlocked this with her wand as well and moved aside so Harry could stand in front of the Pensieve. "Well?" she looked at him expectantly.

Harry held up the tiny rust colored bottle with the faded label. He hesitated only a moment before removing the stopper and dumping the contents into the clear, mirror-like surface of the Pensieve where it began to swirl and change color.

"Do you want to see it alone?" Diana asked.

"No," Harry put the bottle in his pocket, the essence of Dumbledore's memory reflecting in his glasses. "Come with me." Gabbing hold of her elbow, Harry leaned over the basin and together they fell from the room into the swirling history.

They landed on what looked like a wooded path at night and walking before them were two wizards, both alike in stature and height with long silver-gray hair. One was dressed in midnight blue robes, the other in faded gray with his hair pulled back and tied with a piece of dirty ribbon. As Harry and Diana followed, the one Harry knew at once to be Dumbledore spoke.

"What happened, Aberforth?"

"There's been an attack," his brother replied with a gruffer, deeper voice than Dumbledore's. "A werewolf, outside of the village." Dumbledore looked at him in alarm. "I've been up there Albus, he's out, but not on his own. Your enchantments didn't fail, but someone has been up there tonight and they released him."

"Impossible, only a few know he's there."

"Well, someone else knew, and by the looks of the tracks it was one of his kind."

Dumbledore stopped in his tracks. "A werewolf would not be able to break through such magic, not while transformed."

"Come see for yourself if you don't believe me," Aberforth responded roughly, moving past Dumbledore and further up the path in the dark. Dumbledore lit his wand and followed, watching and listening intensely to the woods around them. The moon was full and bright and gave plenty of light as they reached the Shrieking Shack standing alone in a clearing. Harry had never been this close outside of the shack before and he looked up at the moaning and creaking siding, the closed off boarded windows, and dilapidated front porch leaning dangerously to the side. Dumbledore stopped short at the sight of the gaping front doorway, the door itself broken and lying in splinters across the threshold as if blown away by a strong force.

"No werewolf did this," Aberforth stood with a foot on the bottom step leading up the front stoop.

"No," Dumbledore looked troubled, searching the ground for the prints. He found a pair of them, inhuman with differing sizes, one large, the other smaller. Following them he pointed with the light of his wand back through the trees toward the village where they had just come. Suddenly the air was rent with the chilling howl of a beastly canine, followed immediately by another, higher pitched reply. Dumbledore looked up, eyes searching, alarmed and wary. He took off into the trees, Aberforth remaining behind.

The memory faded momentarily, clearing on a new scene slightly changed from the first. They were still in the forest but deeper in the shelter of the trees, the moon half hidden by the heavy canopy overhead. There was movement in the undergrowth, growling and snarling, snapping twigs and heavy thuds in the brush. Dumbledore ran forward and came upon the sight of a mangy looking werewolf fighting savagely with a larger, fiercer version of its kind. The larger werewolf was like a lunging shadow, black with heavy, mangy hair which was slick with matted blood. Harry recognized the other right away. Lupin was smaller, sleeker and healthier looking than the time when Harry had seen him transform in his third year at Hogwarts, but the fur was the same color, the elongated snout the same shape. Lupin sprang at the other werewolf, sinking his fangs into its flesh. There was a piercing howl of pain and Lupin was flung into the trunk of a nearby tree, nearly knocked senseless. The larger wolf turned on him, ready to strike, human blood dripping from his bared teeth, fresh from his attack.

Dumbledore didn't wait for him to spring, charging into the clearing with wand drawn. The werewolf turned at the sight of him, forgetting about Lupin for the sent of a human. The trees lit up with the light of Dumbledore's spell, meant to stun the beast in his tracks but it wasn't strong enough for the size of it. Merely knocking it off its feet, it slid several feet and landed with a crash into a thicket. It came around quickly, wasting no time in taking off through the trees into the night.

Dumbledore turned as Lupin stirred, rising on his haunches. Aiming with his wand, he stunned Lupin before he could attack, the adolescent werewolf freezing with is fangs snarling, falling to the ground and remaining immobile. Dumbledore crossed the clearing and stooped to examine him, his half-moon spectacles reflecting in the low light. Through the trees came the sound of raised voices, a mob crashing through the undergrowth in search of the beast that had attacked their neighbors. Dumbledore rose, and standing straight, he levitated Lupin with his wand and drew him out of the clearing into the shadows.

The memory faded and Harry felt himself being pulled back to the present, tugging on Diana's arm as they rose and fell back to the storage room floor.

"Whoa," she brushed her hair out her eyes, giving Harry a significant look. "Well, that answers it." Harry nodded, siphoning the memory back into its bottle. "Except one thing," she squinted in confusion. "How does it prove that he didn't help attack those people?"

"He was clean," Harry said. "He didn't have any blood on him, Grayback did." He said the name without thinking, realizing as he did that the other beast was indeed the werewolf Harry knew all too well. Who else would be in those woods, luring Lupin out of the Shrieking Shack? What other werewolf would it be but the one who had bitten Remus in the first place?

Diana was watching him curiously. He gave her a small smile, resealing the memory bottle with the tip of his wand. "Thank you, for…" he laughed, "for illegally obtaining the answers."

"Any time," she returned the smile as they turned to go. "But illegal is a bit extreme, dishonest, maybe—" she broke off cursing under her breath as they stepped out of the room into the hall where Ms. Dale stood waiting, Goldberg behind her.

"Come with me, Miss Wescott," she eyed them coldly. "Mr. Potter, you're wanted in the Minister's office."

* * *

Harry hesitated outside the closed door after being informed he should enter, the Minister was waiting for him. He knew what he had done was probably wrong, but this was over doing it. Maybe using unauthorized Ministry property as a trainee was a worse offense than he thought. He couldn't be sure since he hadn't read through every word of his contract as thoroughly as he probably should have. Pushing open the door, Harry once again regretted ever seeing the memory in the evidence room in the first place. Looking down, he realized the bottle was still in his hand and stuffed it hastily into his pocket.

"Come in Harry," Kingsley waved at him from where he sat behind his desk, turned in his chair and speaking to the occupant of a portrait hanging on the wall to his left. "Inform him that I will be seeing him this evening at seven, and I will be staying for dinner." The aging wizard in the portrait nodded, bowing before he disappeared out the side of his frame. "Sit down, Harry," Kingsley swiveled in his leather chair, facing him across the desk. Harry sat in one of the two chairs opposite.

"Minister, I know we shouldn't have taken the memory, but…"

"The what?" Kingsley looked confused a moment. "Oh, right. Yes, Ms. Dale did mention…forget about the memory Harry, I don't blame you for wanting to see it."

"You know what it was?" Now Harry was confused.

"Well, I guessed. It was Dumbledore's, about Lupin's trial?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, mistrial I guess. You did see it then?"

"Yes, sir, but I didn't realize—"

Kingsley put up a hand to stop him. "No harm done, you were just curious. Nothing wrong with that; it's rather a requirement for the job, I would say."

"Yes, sir," Harry was relieved.

"And don't let Dale bother you about it, she's an excellent Auror but a bit of a stickler for rules. Makes for a good trainer, but well…" he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Anyway, Harry, that's not why I brought you here. Rumors have been filtering back to my office for some days now, founded rumors from some of our best Aurors. Rodolphus Lestrange may be back in the country."

Harry looked up in surprise. "Lestrange?"

"Yes, we known him to be in hiding in Cairo for the past six months but have reason to believe he is back. I have already warned Arthur to put Molly on the look out, but I wanted you to be aware as well. He was never as vengeful as his wife, but he was a very powerful Death Eater and very loyal to Voldemort. It was believed for some time that he was disillusioned by being a Death Eater, having worn away for so many years in Azkaban. When they escaped he returned to his old habits but was always shunted of his wife's attention."

Harry nodded, Bellatrix had always been more infatuated with Voldemort, but her obsession was even stronger during his second rise to power. He imagined that wouldn't be easy for any man to stand by and watch.

"Despite this, it seems as though Lestrange is intent on taking out his losses on someone," Kingsley continued. "Whether that means going after Molly for killing his wife or after you for killing his master, we don't know. Most likely he plans to do both. We intend on keeping either from happening of course, but we may need your help. I have informed the team of Aurors on the case that you would be available to assist if need be."

"What would I do?" Harry leaned forward, eager for whatever the Minister asked.

"Well, to put it bluntly," Kingsley's eyes twinkled. "We would use you for bait." Harry sat back and thought about this, unable to hold back a grin. "Yes, I thought you would approve. So we can count on you, Potter?" Kingsley returned the smile.

"Definitely."

"We will keep you posted." The Minister stood, holding out a hand for a shake. "And Harry, please, watch your back; help us keep an eye on the Weasley family."

Harry nodded, thinking suddenly of Ginny. "Sir, is there any—"

"The Quidditch training camp is heavily guarded," Kingsley read his mind. "But I assure you, extra precaution has been made, and your fiancé has been made aware of the situation." A small smile played at the corner of his mouth. Harry nodded, thankful. "Congratulations by the way." Kingsley released his hand.

"Thank you, sir."

"Probably should stay under Dale's radar for a while too," the Minister patted him humorously on the arm before sitting back behind his desk. "Although I do hope your curiosity was satisfied by seeing the memory?"

Harry frowned, touching the vial in his pocket. "Mostly, though I still don't understand one thing."

"What's that?" Kingsley asked, perusing the work laid out on his desk.

"Well, I thought that Lupin's identity was a secret. No one but Dumbledore knew he was a werewolf when he came to teach at Hogwarts."

"Not true," he corrected him. "Lupin was always a registered werewolf, his name has been on the list of dangerous magical species since he was bit as a child. Not many wizards are aware of this list or privy to it, although legally it can be seen by anyone who requests to view it. The Ministry was fully aware of his presence at Hogwarts both as a student and as a teacher, though only by a select few.

"I wasn't around at the time, but Remus told me it took Dumbledore's best efforts to convince them it was a good decision; even greater efforts after the incident in Hogsmeade. Lupin was found innocent, but the Ministry didn't like the fact that Dumbledore's sure-proof stronghold could be broken into."

"How did he manage to change their minds?" Harry asked.

"He's Dumbledore," Kingsley smiled. "He was very persuasive when he wanted to be." Harry knew that to be true. "When the time came to request Lupin's presence at Hogwarts in a teaching capacity there were very few Ministry workers left who were even aware that Lupin was a werewolf."

"I'm sure Dumbledore wasn't quick to remind them," Harry said.

Kingsley grinned, nodding. "Not exactly a lie but also very much Dumbledore's style."

Harry thought of his old headmaster and smiled himself. Regardless of his methods, he had always been a loyal advocate for his students no matter who, or what, they were.

"Anything else?" Kingsley asked, picking up his quill. Harry shook his head and left him to his work, feeling slightly exhilarated. No, no more questions. He had had enough of mysteries for a little while, although the idea of being involved in the capture of Lestrange was an exciting prospect. He didn't wish for the Weasley's to be in any danger, but the idea of actually doing what he had come to the Ministry to do, to help snare a wanted dark Wizard, that was something he could get into.

Diana and Goldberg were alone in the training room when he returned, both quietly working. They looked up when he entered, Diana watching him closely for a reaction. He flashed her a grin and went to his table, settling down to his work with a light heart. Goldberg caught his expression and soured.

Diana looked between them both and broke out into a smile. "Tough luck, American. Harry Potter scores again."

**Expectations **

The station was crowded with Sunday afternoon travelers leaving London. Harry took out his pocket watch and checked the time. Ten minutes, they were early. He looked up and spotted Ginny walking toward him from the ticket booth. "All set?"

"Yeah," she nodded, stowing her ticket in her pocket book and tucking it away in her bag. It had been another relaxing weekend at the flat, hanging out on the couch in front of the TV. The weather had been dismal so they had kept inside, content to just sit and listen to Ron and Hermione bicker about nothing. Harry had caught himself, more than once, admiring the way Ginny's finger looked while wearing his ring.

The time, as always, had gone too fast, and now it was Sunday and she had to head back on the train to Quidditch camp. Harry put an arm around her, pulling her in for one more embrace before she boarded. Ginny sighed into his chest before looking up at him with a wistful expression. "I'll see you in two weeks," she tried to sound positive.

"Two weeks," Harry wasn't as cheerful. "And then another two weeks after that."

"No, probably more, we have two away matches in a row next month," she looked apologetic. "The season won't last forever, Harry."

"It'd be shorter if you don't make it to the finals."

"Thanks."

"Just a suggestion."

"You might just get your wish if we don't start playing like we should."

"Either way, you'll be home in the summer." Harry pulled her tighter, wishing it was already there.

"At least until pre-season training starts again."

Harry released her, pulling back and looking at her seriously. "What about the wedding?"

"What wedding?" Ginny attempted to laugh. "We haven't set a date yet."

"Yeah, but it'll be next year." Harry hoped she was joking. "Don't you need time to plan it?"

"Lots of time," she stepped back looking at him in disbelief. "Lots and lots of time, _after_ Quidditch."

"What does that mean?" Harry couldn't believe what she was saying. He thought they were on the same page, he thought she understood what an engagement ring meant.

"What do you think, Harry?" Ginny's eyes flashed. "Did you think just because I'm wearing this," she held up her left hand, "that I'm going to quit playing and race down the aisle."

Harry's jaw clenched and he looked away, too angry to hold her intense glare. Steam filled the station as the train prepared to leave; the whistle blew announcing its imminent departure.

"Look," Ginny forced him to look at her. "I'm sorry that your family life was less than pleasant, Harry. I get that now, when you have a chance to fix that, you want to. So do I, but I had a family growing up. I just got free from all that. I'm not ready to become my mother, stuck at home cooking and cleaning for you yet."

"That's not what I'm asking." Harry couldn't believe she would say that.

"No," she released him stepping back. "I can work, sure, just not playing Quidditch, right?"

"I thought this was what you wanted, what we both wanted."

"It is, Harry. I want to marry you." Her expression softened. "But I'm not giving up Quidditch. Not yet. I need to experience something on my own."

The train whistled once again and Harry met her gaze, returning it coldly, nodding curtly. "Right. I'll leave you to it then," he turned and walked away.

Not ready to go home and have to attempt to act normal with Ron, Harry walked the now familiar streets of London hunched against the bitter cold. He regretted leaving like he had, arguing with himself that she had every right to say what she had. He knew he was being unfair. Quidditch was her career, her dream. Harry was working toward his dream of becoming an Auror, why shouldn't she do the same? But it was killing him, he wanted her home more than anything and for a few short weeks he actually believed it was going to happen. They had already begun making plans of finding their own place, of having the ceremony beside the lake on the grounds at Hogwarts. A date had never been mentioned, but when Ginny had suggested the fall, Harry had only assumed she meant of that year. If he had been so mistaken it was her fault for misleading him. How long did she plan on playing anyway, until she won a World cup? _That could take a life time with the Harpies,_ he thought harshly.

Unresolved and still fuming, Harry disapparated outside a nail salon and reappeared at the flat, ducking inside just as it began to rain freezing drizzle. Ron wasn't home, and Harry was relieved. He didn't know how long it would take him to find out about the row, but Harry wasn't going to be the one to tell him. He had half hoped to find an owl waiting for him with a letter of apology from Ginny. But that was ridiculous; this was Ginny he was dealing with. Weasley women never apologized first. Falling moodily into the recliner in the sitting room, Harry sat in the semi-gloom and watched the rain fall in rivulets on the window pane. He knew what he had to do, he had to be the first to write, apologize and get things going again. He didn't know what that meant, but it was the right thing to do. He would just have to convince her that one year of Quidditch was enough. He wasn't the only one who hated the long weeks apart or those Sunday goodbyes beside the train. How could she not want to give all that up and come home for good? Telling himself that a letter was definitely the best course of action, he remained where he was and decided later would be a good time to write it.


	9. Chapter 9

******AN: You all probably would like to stone me after this, but bear with me. A story can't be all rainbows and sunshine. I like to think Rowling would be disappointed if there wasn't any conflict so I had to rock the boat a little. But, don't dismiss me just yet, lots more to come! I promise you won't be disappointed ;D **

**Blowing Off Steam**

Ms. Dale had her recruits practicing defensive spells in the practical training room to finish off the day's lesson. Harry found it a good way to blow off steam after a long week. Their training was reaching an intense peak, and after several heated arguments through owl post, Harry had managed to only make things worse with Ginny. She was proving difficult to persuade and not at all reasonable.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Harry caught his breath behind one of the obstacles on the training floor. Goldberg sent a hex his direction but missed by several inches. Harry returned the compliment, knocking the American off of his feet and leaving him immobile for several seconds where he lay.

"Excellent form, Potter," Ms. Dale called out from her observation post on the cat-walk. Harry turned as Diana darted out from behind a veil on his left sending a well-aimed spell his direction.

"Protego," Harry blocked it, sending a similar one in return which she blocked as if it was nothing.

"Good, good, but non-verbal only remember!" Ms. Dale instructed.

Diana shook her head at him with an amused half-grin. "All these months of training and you still can't remember something as simple as keeping your mouth shut."

"You should talk," Harry returned with a malicious grin of his own.

"Oh," Diana raised her eyebrows, advancing with wand raised. "I hope you're stinging remark doesn't imply that I have a big mouth."

"Not _imply_, no." Harry backed away, prepared to block whatever she threw at him.

"Well, at least I shut it when it counts." She flicked her wand and sent a red jet of light flying his direction. Harry dodged it, following it immediately with another that hit a plinth beside her, sending it smashing to the floor as she ducked and hid behind a nearby barrier. Ms. Dale was laughing and clapping in glee, cheering on their efforts with praise. The harmless combat was just what Harry needed and he grew bold with the exercise, ducking behind a draping veil in the wall, finding himself in a small dark passage which he knew would lead him out to the other side of the room. Moving quickly along it, he hoped to sneak up on Diana from behind and take her off guard.

He saw light ahead along the fluttering edges of the drape that covered the opening at the other end of the tunnel. He made for it, wand at the ready, just before he felt himself being dragged back, slammed hard against the wall before dropping to the floor. Standing and whipping around, Harry ignited his wand and pointed it back down the passage the way he had come.

The beam of light caught the movement of a cloak as whoever had cursed him darted into shadow so as not to be seen. Harry sent a spell after it, but was sure he missed in the dark. Soon enough he received another sharp blow as the force of a second curse hit him, sending him reeling back several steps.

"Where's your confidence now, Potter?" The low soft drawl of the American echoed in the dark. Harry raised his wand once again and cast light upon Goldberg's sneering face. Breathing hard, he held his stance and felt his anger rise. He wasn't in the mood for this arrogant bastard and his petty jealousies.

"The great Harry Potter, defeater of the darkest wizard in history, caught against a wall and can't even cast a simple non-verbal spell." Goldberg's expression turned cold. "You've got the whole Ministry, even the Minister himself kissing your ass and you're nothing but a pathetic loser."

"What the hell do you care?" Harry glared him down, wand steady.

Goldberg smiled sardonically. "I don't. I don't give a damn about you or what you think you've done.

"Excellent," Harry snapped with heated sarcasm before turning to leave, having wasted enough time already. "You'd be the first."

Goldberg tried to get him while his back was turned, but Harry was expecting it, shielding the curse and countering, sending Goldberg flying back onto the cold stone floor. Harry raised him up with his wand, slamming Goldberg against the wall and holding him there. He stood before him, wand pointed sharply at his exposed neck, furious and fed up. "I don't know what your problem is," Harry glowered, "but it's time you got over it, or you can take your pompous ass back to America." Goldberg, struggling against the hold of Harry's spell, cursed him bitterly. Harry raised his wand once again ready to repay him the compliment.

"Harry!" The bouncing light of a wand danced into view in the dark passageway causing Harry to look over his shoulder as Diana ran up and caught sight of the two of them dueling. Her eyes grew wide in surprise, traveling from Harry to Goldberg trapped against the wall, several inches off the ground. "Harry, Ms. Dale is coming."

Harry glanced back at Goldberg, jaw clenched and tense. Stepping back, he turned to leave the passageway, flicking his wand abruptly and releasing his hold on the American. Goldberg dropped heavily to the stone floor with a dull thud "How's that for non-verbal?" Harry muttered, passing out into the open light of the training room beyond.

Diana hurried after him, looking delighted and confused all at once. "What went on in there? You two disappeared and were gone for ages."

"Goldberg's a bloody fool." Harry grabbed his cloak roughly off the peg on the wall, shoving his wand in his pocket and throwing it on.

"Obviously," Diana followed suit. "But what did he say?"

"Nothing," Harry snapped, going for the door ready to leave for the day.

"Hey," she stopped him. "What is up with you? You've been in this obnoxious funk all week, and now this?" She gestured back toward the hidden passage behind them. Harry looked at the floor and didn't reply, too high-strung to bother explaining. Diana watched him carefully, guessing intuitively what was bothering him but tactfully saying nothing. "Why don't we get that drink," she suggested warmly. "And don't say no this time, 'cause you need it."

Harry caught her eye and its teasing inflection and made a decision. "Yeah, okay."

They went to a muggle pub by Harry's request. He wasn't in the mood to be seen by anyone with a knowledge of who he was or could recognize his tell-tale scar. Diana knew of this cozy little place not far from Harry's flat with a small bar and low lighting. The atmosphere was heavy with comfortable chatter and cigarette smoke, a bearded old gentleman sat at a corner table sipping rum and playing a guitar while singing sad old folk songs. His audience was a small group of droopy-eyed regulars holding mugs of beer and wrapped in scarves and hand knit sweaters.

Diana found them a seat at the end of the near empty bar in the front and ordered them a round. Harry, who had not been inclined to talk about Ginny, suddenly found himself telling Diana everything. She listened without interjecting, replacing his mug with a fresh one each time it was empty.

"I dunno," Harry rubbed his tired eyes when he finished, taking another drink and finishing off number three, or four; he'd lost track. "I know I should just let her go and be happy for her…"

"Why?" Diana asked, pointing at the bar tender and motioning for a re-fill. Harry shook his head, waving her off.

"I'm done." He didn't want any more, but accepted the mug when it was placed in front of him anyway. Looking down at the empty shot glasses in front of them, Harry frowned, not remembering having consumed anything other than beer. "Why?" he repeated her question, looking at her with blurry eyes.

"Yes, why?" She was sitting close, their arms touching as they leaned against the bar. Reaching over, she adjusted his glasses where he had knocked them slightly askew, smiling with contained amusement and brushing a stray hair away from his forehead. "Why should you have to do anything?"

Harry stared at her, lost for a moment in her brilliant blue eyes. "Why not?"

"She made it clear what's most important to her," Diana argued, speaking low. "Maybe she does want to marry you, but if she needs all this time to 'do her own thing', if she really needs that much independence, who says that's ever going to change? How long are you willing to wait for her to finally decide she's ready?"

Harry looked away, contemplating this. He found it difficult to think at all with Diana that near and the room so close and warm. The guitar player began a new song, a slow melancholy melody. It was a favorite of the spectators and they all joined in singing the soft lullaby lyrics. Harry watched them a moment before turning back and meeting Diana's gaze once again.

"Come on," she stood, paid the bar man and took Harry's hand. "I'll take you home."

He didn't understand how she would walk so steadily, Harry was sure she had drunk as much as he had. But it was Diana who held him steady, walking down the lively streets full of the night life of London, winding their way back to Harry's flat. He couldn't remember ever telling her where he lived, but they ended up there just the same and Harry was glad because he didn't feel like he could walk much farther. Stopping just inside the alcove before the door, Diana leaned him up against the wall with her teasing half-smile. "Stay," she instructed, straightening his cloak and handing him back his tie. Harry looked at it confused, not sure how she had come to have it. "Just put it in your pocket," she laughed softly, helping him get rid of it.

"Thanks," he found himself laughing as well. "Thanks for the drink."

"_Drinks_," Diana corrected.

"That too." Harry looked down at her, mesmerized by the reflected light in her ice crystal eyes. "I'm drunk," he muttered.

"Me too," she whispered, moving in. "We'll never remember this on Monday."

"That's true." Harry didn't move as she leaned heavily against him, kissing him hard, back against the wall. She held it a lingering moment before pulling away, stepping back from the shadow of the alcove. Harry followed a few steps as she caught his fingers in hers before turning down the empty sidewalk.

"I'll see you, Harry." She released his hand, smiled softly and walked away. Harry stood, steadied himself against the wall, and watched her go before turning to go inside. He stumbled back in surprise as he came face to face with Ron standing silently behind him. Ron grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the door, face set in anger.

"Ron—"

"Shut up," he snapped, yanking him away from the door once again, grabbing the knob and throwing it open. "Upstairs." Tripping and fumbling, Ron shoved him up the flights of stairs to their flat door, unlocking it and pushing him inside without another word. Harry didn't even try to explain, didn't attempt to defend himself.

Kicking the door closed, Ron grabbed him once again, shoving him roughly against it. "What the hell was that?" he yelled, fist grasping tight to the front of Harry's shirt. "I know what I just saw and that sure as hell wasn't my sister!"

"Ron, I—"

"Shut up!" he shouted. Harry winced as he took another blow against the door. "What are you playing at? You don't come home after work, you smell like a bloody brewery, and you're snogging some bitch downstairs!"

"She's not a bitch!" Harry put his hands up, trying to shove Ron off of him. "Would you calm down and let me speak?" he shouted in return. "And put away your wand!" Ron glared at him, wand pointed dangerously close to Harry's face. "Please!"

He dropped his wand, roughly releasing Harry and stepping away. Harry waited until Ron had moved toward the sofa before moving himself, walking on unsteady feet and sinking heavily onto one end. Ron took a seat on the opposite side, keeping his wand out but relaxing his stance. "What the hell, mate?"

"I'm sorry," Harry didn't know what else to say. "It…it was a mistake." Ron made a noise of disbelief, refusing to look at him. "I think the wedding's off."

"Don't be stupid," Ron muttered. "Unless you're dumb enough to tell her, Ginny's not going to call it off for this."

"No," Harry interrupted, frustrated. "She wants to keep playing Quidditch; she doesn't want to get married yet."

"That's no reason to go around snogging other girls you meet in bars."

"No—" Harry grew angry. "I didn't meet her in a bar…that's not the point, Ginny doesn't want to marry me, Ron!"

"That's mental, she's always wanted to marry you." Ron turned and looked at him for the first time. Harry pulled an envelope out of his pocket and tossed it at him, glancing away feeling miserable. Ron picked it up, unsure and wary. Opening it he found a letter and pulled it out.

"It arrived this morning," Harry explained numbly, "with this." Holding up his hand he showed Ron the tiny ring stuck on the lower knuckle of his pinky finger. Ron stared at it in disbelief. Looking down at the paper in his hand he scanned the writing quickly.

"Why?" he glanced up for an explanation.

Harry shrugged. "I told you, she'd rather play Quidditch."

"Harry," Ron was dumbfounded, leaving the letter lying open on the cushion between them. "You have to fix this."

"I know."

"No," he insisted harshly. "Fix it!" He stood abruptly, grabbing the letter and tossing it at Harry. "And take a shower, you reek." Leaving Harry alone, Ron disappeared into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Harry wiped his rid-rimmed eyes, twisting the ring on his finger absently. Carefully folding the letter, he replaced it to its envelope and dropped the ring in beside it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Admitting Defeat**

"Harry!" Ron woke him with a start, smacking Harry hard in the face with an open palm. "Wake up! You're going to be late."

Harry struggled to open his eyes, wincing as pain split his temples as the sunlight through the flat windows pierces his vision. He covered his eyes and searched for his glasses which had fallen onto his chest where he had passed out on the sofa. Putting them on he was greeted by the scowling face of Hermione who sat perched, arms crossed, on the arm of the recliner. She opened her mouth to say something but Ron cut her off.

"Leave it alone, Hermione, he's got enough to worry about with the match going on in like…twenty minutes."

_Match?_ Harry tried to focus. _What match?_

"Gryffindor and Ravenclaw," Ron caught Harry's expression of confusion, looking exasperated himself. "You do remember that you referee don't you?"

Harry had completely forgotten that he was expected at Hogwarts that day. _Damn it_, he glanced at the clock, feeling nauseous and wishing he was still asleep.

"Get in the shower. You've don't have much time," Ron urged him into a standing position, "but you need it."

Harry stumbled to the bathroom, ignoring the hissing undertones of disapproval from Hermione and Ron's argumentative replies. Standing under the hot water, he regretted everything about the night before and wished he could do it over. Pushing the blurry image of kissing Diana from his mind he thought about the ring stuffed into Ginny's last letter and wished he could disapparate far away from everything. He was in no mood to deal with a bunch of little kids on brooms right then.

Ron pounded on the door and yelled at him to hurry up. Sighing and holding back a retort, Harry dried off and brushed his teeth, fighting back the desire to vomit. He dressed quickly and, as Ron hurried him out the door, he grabbed the letter and stuffed it in his pocket. Hermione watched him carefully with a frown.

"Maybe you should eat something—"

"No," Harry snapped, pushing his way out the door and down the stairs wishing for once that they weren't coming with him. Just outside they checked the street for pedestrians and dissapparated, appearing outside the front gates of Hogwarts, the sun high and warm though the air was cool and frosty. The uncomfortable feeling of apparating caused Harry to reel slightly and walking off into the trees he left the other two to wait while he quickly emptied his stomach on a cluster of ferns.

Feeling slightly better, he returned and ignored both their looks and simply headed through the front gates towards the school. The Quidditch pitch stands were crowded with spectators and Ron and Hermione left him to find seats. Harry hurried to the locker rooms to retrieve the balls from the Referee's office. Passing through the Gryffindor changing rooms he stopped short at the sight of the team getting ready to play. They were laughing and joking around, blowing off steam before the game. The floor was littered with clothes and broom kits; someone had left a shower running in the other room.

They stopped at the sight of the look on Harry's face, shutting up and standing motionless. "Pick up this mess," he snapped irritably, crossing the room and throwing open the office door. "Get it clean before the match or forfeit." He slammed the door behind him, knowing he was being unreasonable, but not caring.

Harry took the ball case out to the field, passing through the Ravenclaw changing rooms on his way. He was prepared to take out his temper on them as well, but found their team changed and ready to play, the floor picked up and everything in relative order. "Let's go!" he ordered them instead and disregarded their looks of surprise.

The game, in Harry's opinion, was a disaster. Apparently someone had neglected to teach the Ravenclaw beaters the rules of the game, and he had to call several unnecessary fouls in favor of Gryffindor. There were plenty of jeers from the crowd for this, calling favoritism for Harry's old house. He scowled and ignored them, blowing his whistle as a Gryffindor chaser nearly got knocked off her broom with a heavy beater's bat. Yelling at the kid to watch himself or get kicked off the field, Harry awarded the Gryffindor's another chance at the goals amid cheers and boos from all across the stadium.

Wishing the game would just end, Harry watched the two seekers look around for the Snitch, annoyed that they hadn't spotted it. He himself had seen it pass by both of them several times and if they had been paying any attention they would have been done and back to their dormitories by then. Ravenclaw scored without any more interruptions from their beaters and the score was brought up to eighty to thirty, Gryffindor in the lead. Finally, after what felt like hours, the Gryffindors nabbed the snitch near the middle goal ring on the Ravenclaw side and ended it mercifully. Harry blew the whistle among screams and cheers from the crowd.

Ron and Hermione found him after the game, looking apprehensive about his attitude. Ron looked about ready to give him another tongue lashing but refrained from doing so. "Quite the match," was all he said, raising his eyebrows at Hermione. Harry looked away, shoving a bludger back into its case.

"Potter," Professor McGonagall charged up, looking stern and put out. Harry stood and waited for what was coming. "Join me for a walk will you." It wasn't a question, but a command. Harry shared a look with the other two who nodded.

"We'll wait for you in Hogsmeade," Ron told him.

"No," Harry shook his head, "go ahead, I'll see you at home." They left and Harry slammed the top of the ball case down, locking it and picking it up to carry it back to the office. McGonagall walked alongside him, speaking curtly.

"I welcome your willingness to help with Quidditch this year, Potter," she began. "But I do not appreciate you yelling at my students in such a fashion. They are merely children; surely you can recall what that was like?"

"You mean when you used to yell at us, Professor?"

She stiffened, raising to her true height and looking down through her spectacles at him. "Indeed," she eyed him with a look Harry knew all too well. "I may not be able to punish you as a student, Mr. Potter," she retorted. "But I will readily be able to find your replacement."

Harry looked away, jaw clenched.

McGonagall visibly softened, watching him carefully. "But I would hate to have to do so. We'll see you at the next match." She walked away towards the castle, following the departing crowd now at the front doors to the main hall. Harry watched her go feeling miserable. He was well on his way to ruining every relationship that held any value to him.

"Brilliant," he muttered, returning to put away the ball case. The office was quiet, the teams having changed and left as quickly as possible to avoid him. Harry disregarded the mess that both had left, closing the door behind him and setting the case by the wall beside the desk. Light filtered in through the single window, a cool purple hue as the sun began to set over the lake. Harry sat in the swivel chair before the desk and leaned his head back, his head pounding and his stomach pained more with shame than being hung-over. He'd messed up and he didn't know how to fix it. He wanted to run, but didn't know where to go.

His gaze traveled to a door to his right, the storage closet. Getting up, he opened it, taking out the Snitch they had used for the game which had been in his pocket. He walked to a row of boxes on shelves lining the wall. Pulling out the nearest one, he opened it to reveal several smaller boxes, each holding its own separate Snitch. Finding the empty box in which to house the one he held, Harry took it back out to the other room to label it, putting the day's date of the match and the name of the seeker who caught it on the top. Closing the Snitch inside, he sealed it with his wand and returned it to the storage room, pushing the box back on the shelf once it was inside. Looking down the row of shelves, Harry stepped to another box and pulled it free, reading the labels on the tops of the little compartments inside.

They were all there, all the years he'd played seeker, every one of the Snitches he had caught; all but one. That one was still in his possession, back in his trunk at the flat, empty of what it had contained the last time he'd made use of it. Harry's stomach lurched as he caught sight of Ginny's name scrawled on one of the little boxes. One of her Snitches, she had caught it when he couldn't, when he wasn't allowed to play. The same day he had kissed her for the first time. Taking hold of the box, Harry opened it and looked at the golden sheen of the tiny ball. Its wings fluttered for a moment and lay still.

The sun had disappeared by the time Harry locked the office and left the dressing rooms. The castle was lit up with hundreds of tiny lights, the windows of Gryffindor tower ablaze with warmth. They would be celebrating hours into the night over their win. They were favored for the House Cup again, of course.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets against the chill and walked across the lawn. He passed Hagrid's hut but kept his distance, not wanting Fang to alert him to Harry's presence. He would have to visit soon, but not right then. Outside the gates, listening to them clang and seal behind him, Harry turned and dissapparated.

There were several muggles out on the streets of the village but none of them paid him any mind. Harry crossed to a by-street and kept to the shadows, wishing not to be seen. No one would recognize him, he was sure, but better not take chances. He wanted to be left alone. His first stop was the house. He hadn't seen it since the time him and Hermione had been there but this time he wasn't in any danger and had all the time in the world.

The sign popped up as he approached, looking over the crumbling remains of the house that had once been his home for such a short time. There were new inscriptions on the sign, 'thank yous' and best whishes. Someone had scratched 'Long Live Harry Potter' across the bottom. He should have been appreciative of the sentiment, and truthfully he was, but seeing the messages right then didn't improve his disposition. He would've rather come home and crossed through the threshold into a warm foyer to be greeted by his parents. He would've rather sat down at his mother's kitchen table, handed a warm cup of tea and some much needed advice from his dad on how to get out of the mess he had gotten himself into. Even dead, Voldemort was making things difficult for Harry.

Pulling himself away, he walked the dark streets across the village to the church yard, pushing open the gate and stepping into the cemetery. He didn't have to look this time; he knew right where his parent's graves were. Standing before them, Harry felt cold from both the chill air and the loneliness he felt. They were all gone, anyone he could have asked or talked to that could make him feel better. Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin…all of those he felt like he could go to like a father figure.

Harry looked up at the sound of a group of muggles stepping out of a pub, laughing and talking loudly. Glancing back to the grave stone before him, Harry realized something. No, not all of them. There was one left.

* * *

The kitchen window of the Burrow was lit with a welcoming glow. They were still awake, Harry was hopeful. Stepping up to the door he resisted the urge to just walk right in, stopping and knocking softly. There was a scuffle of chairs being pushed back on the hardwood floor, a few light footsteps, and Molly peered through the curtain to see who was there. Seeing Harry, she quickly unlocked the door and pulled it open.

"Harry?" She stood back, allowing him to enter. She was slightly less than welcome, and Harry realized that she must have had many talks with Ginny over the past few weeks. After a good look at him though, her expression soften, noting his look of exhaustion and worry. Arthur was at the table, smoking his pipe with a cup of tea.

"What's the trouble, Harry?" he asked, as warm as ever.

Harry hesitated, unsure now that he was there. "Can…can I have a word, Mr. Weasley?"

"Of course, son." Arthur stood and put out an arm to lead him into the sitting room. "Molly, more tea I think?" His wife nodded without speaking, bustling over to the kettle. They sat by the fire and Molly filled their cups, disappearing back into the kitchen to eavesdrop from a distance.

"What brings you here so late?" Arthur blew on his steaming cup and looked over the rim at Harry who had no interest in his own tea but instead sat playing with the ring stationed once again on his pinky.

"I…I messed up, Mr. Weasley," he stated lamely.

"Please, Harry," he put up a hand to stop him. "Call me Arthur."

Harry nodded, staring into his cup. "I messed up, I didn't…I didn't expect her to actually leave me."

"Ah," Arthur nodded. "Then you have a lot to learn about the women in this family. They never do what you expect them to do, always the opposite." This wasn't helpful, and Harry's expression said as much. Arthur laughed, his eyes twinkling in the light of the fire. "Listen, Harry," he leaned forward in his seat, speaking low. "The key to getting on with them is simple." He glanced toward the kitchen conspiratorially. "Let them win, every time. Let them win, whatever the cost. Because, frankly, they are never wrong. Ever," he raised a finger before Harry could object. "_Ever_. They have things far more figured out than we ever will. Remember what I told you before. They are strong-minded, opinionated, and fierce, but," he smiled warmly, sitting back in his chair, "they are loyal, and love stronger than you can imagine. You haven't lost her yet. Not if you do the right thing."

"What's the right thing?"

"Absolutely everything she says."


	11. Chapter 11

**Forever**

Ginny stood under the running hot water and closed her eyes. Every muscle was sore and screaming and she was looking forward to reaching her bed and getting a good night's sleep. Maybe that night she would actually get one. After a match as intense as that, she hoped she was exhausted enough not to let her mind wander back to Harry. She was tired of thinking about him, tired of crying. Tears of anger, bitterness, frustration, and complete loss, she was sick of it all.

Turning off the tap, she grabbed her towel and dried off, taking fresh sweats from her bag and sliding them on. Pulling back her wet hair, Ginny covered it with the hood of her cloak before stepping out of the deserted changing room and leaving the stadium. The crowd had dispersed; the other players off to the dormitories to lament another tough loss. Ginny walked alone almost missing seeing the lone figure standing under the light of a lantern further ahead on the walkway. Her heart skipped a beat and she stopped, recognizing the profile and that tell-tale untidy dark hair.

Harry stood from leaning against his god-father's old flying motorcycle and waited as she drew nearer, watching him with her intense questioning gaze. "I didn't know you were here."

"It was a great game."

"We lost," she stood before him, looking up into his shadowed face.

"You were brilliant." Harry couldn't take his eyes off her, wanting nothing more but to reach out and hold her without letting go.

"Why are you here?" she asked softly, not a trace of accusation in her inflection.

"I brought you something." Harry pulled his hand from his cloak pocket, reaching out and opening his hand, palm upward. Ginny looked down and saw the tiny ball of gold shine in the light of the lamp overhead. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "It's yours, you caught it that match against—"

"Ravenclaw." Ginny put out a hand to take it, hesitating and looking up at him.

"Take it," he reassured her. Closing her fingers around the snitch, Ginny watched expectantly as it fell open at her touch revealing what was hidden inside. "I want you to keep it," Harry told her, watching her closely. "Until you're ready, I…I'll wait."

"How long?" Ginny kept her gaze on the snitch, eyes downcast, a trace of emotion in her words.

"Forever."

Looking up into Harry's eyes, Ginny opened her lips to speak, but couldn't. Throwing her arms around him and meeting his lips with hers for a deep, long kiss full of meaning, she clasped tightly to the snitch, the flutter of tiny wings beating against the glint of the ring on her finger.

**Looking Forward**

The flat above the joke shop on Diagon Alley was well lit and warm with the presence of several chattering bodies around the long table over-loaded with food and drink. George passed around the bottle and refilled everyone's glasses, laughing and sharing humorous stories about the owner of the shop next door. Harry laughed along with the others, feeling lighthearted. Squeezing Ginny's hand under the table he smiled at her, receiving a smile in return.

It didn't look as though the Harpies were going to make it to the finals that season, so she would be home for the summer sooner than expected. Harry was glad for the fact, but also getting used to the idea that she would be leaving again a short time later for next season's training. It didn't matter, really. Plans were being made; there would be a wedding, eventually.

Work at the Ministry was still exhausting, but operations were under way to capture Lestrange, and Harry was a large part of the action. Things had been a little uncomfortable between Diana and him for a while, but he had apologized for the night of drinking and in time they had returned to their usual competitive working relationship. Diana concluded that she couldn't very well loathe Goldberg on her own, it wasn't nearly as enjoyable.

There was a clinking of silverware on glass as Ron stood and got everyone's attention. Preparing to make a toast, he looked down the table at Harry with a grin. "Well, it was a little shaky for a while there, mate," he said. "But we can finally celebrate your engagement with this fine meal."

"Thank you, Ron," George raised his glass.

"Yes, thank you, Ron," Angelina gave George a look, elbowing him.

"Who was it that cooked then, eh?" he argued. "Not you, obviously, everyone's eating aren't they?"

"Ahem," Ron shut them both up. "Anyway, Harry, Ginny," he raised his glass. "Congratulations."

"Cheers!" Everyone followed suit and drank to the happy couple.

"Wait, wait, I'm not done." Ron continued, ignoring George's groan. "Since we're all here," he looked at Hermione who looked at him in surprise.

"Now?" her face grew pink.

"Yes, now," Ron rolled his eyes, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her to her feet. "We have an announcement as well." Holding up her finger so everyone could see, he showed them the ring. Angelina gasped, and Ginny laughed with excitement.

"Oh, I knew it!"

Harry looked at Ron in delighted surprise, raising his glass again in return. "Well, done. It's about time."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, sitting down looking red in the face. The girls crowded around the ring and chattered non-stop. "What'd I say," he gave Harry a look. "It's all your fault."

"Hold on, hold on," George stood from his seat this time and everyone stopped, resuming their seats. "I've got something to announce then myself."

"What?" Angelina looked at him in horror.

"Don't be stupid," George waved her off. "If you two are getting married," he pointed at Ron and Hermione, "then I might as well give you your wedding gift now."

Ron looked confused.

"You all know that Fred and I once talked about taking up residence in Hogsmeade," George trailed off a moment, staring at the candles burning in the center of the table. Everyone went silent, quietly sipping their wine in memory. "Well, anyway, it's happened. I bought out Zonko's. I'm opening a new store and will be needing someone," he looked at Ron once again, "to manage this one while I'm there."

"Oh," Hermione covered her mouth in surprise, looking at Ron as well. He looked surprised, alarmed, and pleased all at once.

"Manager?"

"That's right little bro," George tipped his glass in his direction. "If you accept."

"Well, I…" Ron looked to Hermione for help who nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, yeah of course."

"It's settled then," George nodded, sitting down and draining his wine. "And don't expect a gift at the ceremony."

"That's a lot to celebrate for one night." Ginny smiled over the chatter of the rest of the table, looking at Harry. He returned the smile, looking around at them all in the low lighting, laughing and enjoying the late evening meal. Yes, it certainly was.

**Author's Note: I've had some comments about the oddity of placing Harry and Ron in a rundown, London flat after the war with Voldemort and finishing at Hogwarts so I'd just like to say that I did this intentionally. I can't imagine Harry picking some posh flat or even a cottage in Godrick's Hallow right off the bat. With three years of training to be an Auror and hopes of marrying Ginny, he would most likely be more careful with his gold. He would never allow the Weasley's to take on the expensive burden of a wedding and would want something saved up for him and Ginny to begin their lives together. Plus, with Ron just starting out as well, Harry would want a place they could both afford equally so as not to hurt the pride of his best mate. Some have also had an issue with Ginny being gone most of the year playing Quidditch. I took some liberties with that just for the sake of the story. Basing it off of a schedule similar to North American Major League Baseball, I just imagined that a career playing Quidditch would take a lot of the player's time and effort. Thanks so much for reading and for the fabulous reviews!**


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